No matter where I've lived, the routine when I walk in the door is always the same. I unlock it, drag myself and usually an overly large handbag through, and immediately kick off my shoes. Then I shut it behind me, dump the bag and keys down on the nearest available surface that isn't the floor, and feel grateful to be home. Sometimes I take a moment to wriggle my sore feet into the nice plush carpet, happy to be out of the stilettos. Today was one of those days, though they are a pair of fabulous gladiator sandals that Alex got me. He was teasing me about my lack of designers, I told him if he wanted me in designers he'd have to pay for it since I sure as hell don't have that kind of money to waste on shoes… so while he didn't pay for them, he did give a freebie sample pair to me instead of letting them rot in the store cupboard as usually happens. Then, after I've kicked off my shoes, I always pad over to the kitchen for some water or a Sprite or something.

That's exactly what I've done tonight, but as with the last week or so there's something different. When I called Lily's name, she didn't answer. She's out, yet again.

It's not unusual for us to leave or get home at different times, even though we work in the same building. My hours are often longer and more unpredictable than hers. To begin with it wasn't a problem, sometimes she'd be out and sometimes she'd be in waiting for a girly night, but these days I barely see her. I don't begrudge her making new friends, not in the slightest, but I feel extremely left out right now. I barely see the woman even though I live with her; is it so much to ask that maybe once in a while she spends some time with me? She never invites me to these things, even though I've dropped plentiful hints. I'd be happy to go meet them somewhere if I was working late.

You'd think she'd want to spend at least the occasional night at home, but she's too busy partying it up instead. It's weird, actually, she's never been a party girl but now she seems to spend every evening at some club. I'm not worried about it, she's way too sensible to do anything stupid, but it's quite a personality shift. It just isn't like her to be burning the candle at both ends or neglecting any one of her friends, let alone me. Lily's just not that girl… or at least she never used to be. Then again, I can't say I haven't changed since I got here too, so maybe I should cut her some slack. Still, I'm not thrilled about yet another night alone with me and my laptop. There is only so much time you can spend on Facebook.

When I pull the laptop off of the shelf, the preview copy of Justin's album sitting on it reminds me that I meant to shove it on my iTunes. He sent me a copy so I could give him my thoughts, but mainly so I could hear the song about me before it gets released. He's already got the first single out and done some performances, he's been jetting to and from New York and various places promoting. I haven't seen him very much, but he has started calling me quite a lot. I think he gets bored while he's in the car and hanging around at photo shoots, it's mainly so I can entertain him. I don't mind though, since I need the entertainment myself with no Lily around.

It's a good thing he warned me though that the song about me is exaggerated for effect. Since he told me that I was able to take it in good humour, but if I hadn't been warned I would have thought he was making me out to be some kind of freaky slut. It's not really my kind of thing, but I have to admit it's oddly catchy.

When my Blackberry rings, I was half expecting it to be Justin since I was just thinking about him, but I see from the screen it's Steve.

"Hey babe," I say after I've answered it.

"Alright darlin', how's you?" He asks me in his chirpy Scouse manner.

"Bored, tired, usual for after work. You?"

"Knackered but never bored around here. I've got the joy of running the evening ents for the week, and I'm so desperate for ideas I'm about to resort to karaoke."

"Hell no," I shudder. "Buy a few board games and set up a game night. Fun for all the family."

"That's not a bad idea, cheers."

"How exactly did you ever manage to do that job without me?" I ask him as I prop my feet up on the sofa and boot up my laptop. "I seem to spend half my life giving you suggestions."

"You know me, blag artist of the century, like."

"Too bloody right. Artful Dodger, you are."

"I dressed up like him for school once."

"I bet you did…" My reply is a little distracted since I'm concentrating on logging in and clicking away various toolbars and IM windows that pop up as Windows starts. Do I check my emails first or go straight into iTunes?

"Anyways, I was wondering, there's a chance I might be coming out with a mate to Vegas in a few weeks, and I was thinking I might stay a few extra days and come see yous, if you've got a sofa going handy."

"Oh God please," I respond happily. "I'm so bloody bored right now; you'd be a breath of fresh air."

"Why you bored, you and Lil not painting the town?" He asks.

I can feel the pout marring my face as I tap my fingers against the keyboard. "She's never around, she's off with her new set of friends and I'm dependent on the TV or Justin and Rachael being in town."

"Justin and Rachael?"

"Yeah, you remember, I told you about him. Justin who I went out with before you? Him and his cousin."

"Oh yeah, the one who had to go back home, yeah. They not around?"

"He has to travel for work a lot. To be honest I'm not even that close to them anyway, but the only other people I could hang out with are work types and I see them way too much as it is the hours I work."

"Well it's hard to get close to people when they're not around a lot. Give it some time and just make sure yous take advantage when they are about, it'll happen," he sagely advises.

I love the fact that he's so unperturbed by the idea that I'm hanging around the guy who came before him. Steve was never possessive anyway, but he's still friends with nearly all of his exes; he's just that kind of guy so the idea that I would be the same is just natural to him. There are never any problems or drama with him, that's why I adore him so. If we'd both stayed on Adora I have little doubt that I'd still be with him now, Steve is just that fabulous. I was pretty blue about it when we had to break up, even if I did have no desire to do long distance.

"Yeah, you're right, I just feel a bit like Billy No Mates sometimes. Normally I'd join a book club or a class of some type to try and meet people but I just can't do it when my schedule's so bloody all over the place."

"You tried talking to Lil?" He asks. "Maybe she could introduce you to these people she's hanging around with."

"I've dropped hints the size of New Guinea but she's either clueless or just purposely ignoring them."

"What is it with you birds and hints? I keep telling yous, just ask the bloody question."

"And I keep telling you that you have no understanding of female relationships," I tell him with a smile as I wait for the computer to finish converting Justin's CD into mp3s. I bet I could make some money leaking this stuff, but Justin told me that he can and will take a hit out on me if I do. He has the cash. "It's not that simple. You ask outright and it's like you're inviting yourself, you have to wait to be invited."

"Women. You're absolutely crazy."

"Says the man who tried to tell me that it was better to spend the night bleeding than to go and get the necessary stitches."

"It wasn't that bad."

"It cut so deep the blood was pumping out. Not trickling, not seeping, pumping."

"And on that lovely note I need to go eat. Though I'm not sure I'm hungry now."

"Well let me know what's happening about the visit and I'll try and make sure I get at least a couple of days off," I say.

"Will do. Talk to you soon darlin', see yous."

"Bye!"

The phone gets unceremoniously dropped onto the cushion next to me and for a moment my attention is caught up in taking the CD out and putting it back in its case. Now that's done, I have a very simple internet routine to do. Call me obsessive compulsive, but I always do everything in order. First I check my e-mails (both accounts), then I check Twitter and then Facebook. Anything from there on is the result of whatever whim I happen to have in the moment, though when I'm desperate YouTube usually yields some comic gems.

I just feel like a bit of a sad case for having nobody to go out with. I rarely if ever had that problem on Adora. There may have only been a small group of us the same age in that town, but with our various friends in the tourist spots we amassed a pretty extensive network of friendly acquaintances between us. I might not have been best pals with all Nina's friends, for example, but I certainly knew them well enough to call any one of them up and ask if they felt like going for drinks. The life there is very sociable and I miss it. LA is just this huge throng of strangers and of the people I do know, most of them I feel like an imposition if I'm invited along to something. I don't get it, I'm never usually shy.

It occurs to me that I might as well start making myself some dinner, so I interrupt my routine before the Twitter stage to get up and pad to the kitchen. The floor is all white tiles, so it's a bit of a cold shock to my bare feet when I step off the carpet. I open the fridge and see that Lily hasn't bothered to get any food in as she promised to. The fridge yields a pretty pathetic showing of vegetables that have seen better days, a box of eggs and a few potatoes. The cupboards don't yield anything except baked beans, chocolate and cereal, so I guess I'm making Spanish omelette. I could just call out for a takeaway - wait, I'm in America, takeout that should be - but ordering for one always feels a bit pathetic. It shouldn't, but it does.

After lots of sniffing and squeezing of the vegetables to work out if they're still edible, I decide that the tomatoes, beans and broccoli just about pass inspection but the carrots and peppers have got to go. Bell peppers should not be wrinkly.

I've always liked cooking. I'm not exactly some haute cuisine chef, but I've mastered enough to judge when something's about to curdle and precisely how long lamb needs to be cooked before it gets overdone without checking timings, things like that. It's great, because I find that when my hands are busy and I'm concentrating on the task at hand I get to switch my brain off. I'm not always great at that, which is partly why I think I had the stint of depression (the one that led to the anorexia myth). Thinking and allowing yourself to experience emotion is good, but dwelling on things just leads to them getting blown out of all proportion. When I'm cooking, I feel like I'm doing something productive, like I'm accomplishing something. Even if it is just making something to stuff my gob with.

I've just poured the oil into the pan and am waiting for it to heat up when my phone rings from the other room. Quickly I jog to pick it up, and then answer it as I head back to the kitchen.

"Hello?" I forgot to check who was calling.

"Hey English."

"Memphis," I reply. He wanted to call me Windsor, but since that's the Royal Family's name I told him to come up with something else.

"How's it going?" The line is crackling a little, but I can hear Justin well enough. He just sounds a bit distorted.

"Not much, usual." He can't see it, but I shrugged.

"Overworked, underpaid, in need of a foot massage?"

I giggle at that - when I was complaining about my feet hurting the other night he suggested I get a foot massager, and I let out a longing groan the likes of which he says he'd only heard from me before when we were in the bedroom. He now makes lots of jokes about foot massages. "About sums it up."

"So, where's good to eat in Windsor?"

"Umm… I don't know, haven't been there in years and half the restaurants will have changed. Err, why?"

"Because I'm there."

I glance at my watch and my eyebrows shoot up when I work out the zone difference. "Justin, have you got any idea what time it is? You're going to be lucky if McDonald's is even open."

"I'm all too aware of what time it is, but I can't fuckin' sleep when my body clock thinks it's only eight pm," he tells me in a very child like whine. "The flight got massively delayed and they wouldn't let me stop in the airport because of a bunch of paparazzi. Someone tipped 'em off."

"Have they even let you check into a hotel at this time?"

"Yeah, a bunch of people got here at a more normal hour of the day so they got all our keys and stuff."

"Well, I guess on a Friday night you might have a few greasy burger places open trying to get the clubbers as they let out," I say sounding doubtful even to myself, "but you showing up in front of a bunch of drunk partiers is probably not the best plan."

"Ugh. It's just a good thing they gave me a day to adjust my body clock, if I had to work tomorrow… or today I should say, I'd be fuckin' sleep walking."

He sounds very awake and very grouchy. There's a discernible pattern to the times that Justin calls me, and they usually involve him being bored or being cranky. Maybe some people would find that a bit of a backhander, like people who only like you when they're drunk, but with him I've come to learn that letting you see his bad side is a sign of trust. The couple of times I've been out with him, it was almost scary seeing how good he is at turning his facial expressions on and off. He'll be all neutral or even smiling one moment, then the second we're out of sight and away from the cameras he's got a face like thunder and he's bitching. Certain people get to see and hear him complain, the rest don't, and I've come to learn that the common denominator among the chosen few is him considering you a friend or at least somebody who can be counted on to be discreet. It's almost flattering, in a weird and baffling way.

"Well, if you can manage it I'd suggest trying to go without sleep until some vaguely acceptable time of the evening so that you sleep tomorrow. Or today, even," I correct myself as I make the same mistake.

"Hmm. Enough about me though, tell me what you're doing."

"Right this second? Trying to crack eggs in one hand while holding a phone in the other."

"Food…" There's a longing in his tone. "What cha making?"

"Spanish omelette."

"Nice. You and Lily having a quiet night at home then?"

"Nope. I'm Billy No Mates."

"In American?"

"She's out, it's just me."

"A rare night to yourself is always good."

Hah! Maybe they're rare for him; they're becoming pretty routine for me at the moment. God, I really am a sad act. Maybe I should advertise for friends on Craigslist… though I'd have to make sure no guys thought that was code for sex.

"Meh." Again, he can't see me shrug as I start mixing everything up. "I got home, talked to Steve for a while, now I guess I'll just have to find something on TV or a DVD or something. I need to find a library or something, I have no books."

"Man, what exciting lives we lead," he chuckles. "Here's me sitting up by myself at three am in some boring hotel room and you can't even find a book to read or something."

"Hey, my life's not supposed to be exciting. You're meant to be Mr Glamorous Pop Star."

"Rock star."

"You're pop, bitch, deal with it."

Another in joke that has sprung up between us - he made an ill judged joke about the whole lying to me about his occupation thing (he makes a lot of ill judged jokes), I made a snippy comment about him being a pop star and he insisted that he's a rock star. Now I just call him pop star as my own trivial revenge because I know it's not his preferred term. I never claimed to be anything than petty, pettier and pettiest.

"You cut me cruel, woman."

"Whatever."

"Heh." I can almost hear him giving me a sardonic smile. He does a great line in wry and ironic smiles; it amuses me to provoke them. "Well I guess I better attempt to sleep. I'll speak to you soon."

"Night Memphis."

"Goodnight, English."

Well, at least talking to him entertained me for ten minutes, even if it has somewhat delayed the cooking process. Now I just have to work out what I'm doing for the rest of this long, dull evening.