“Stop bitching,” I said. “It was an X-Files marathon again this weekend and I haven’t slept since Friday. I tried to nap during season six but Jim kept prodding me with his foot.”

Stevo didn’t say anything and I realised he probably didn’t want to stay in bed to sleep. I felt my cheeks flush as I punched the lift button for the third floor.

This was my chance to ask Stevo about his boyfriend Brian, maybe even arrange a day when Brian could come and meet Jim, Digger and me, and therefore put Digger’s fears at rest. But Stevo was staring at the lift doors, and something about him radiated “keep off” vibes.

None of us had mentioned Stevo’s boyfriend, not at the pub, through the gaming, or the X-Files. But I’d thought about him, out in the fresh air, flying kites and laughing with a man whose features I couldn’t make out, while Digger, Jim and I were left behind in a stuffy room watching stories we’d seen before.

The lift arrived and I examined Stevo surreptitiously in the smoky mirror. What did a person who was having lots of sex look like?

He was the same. His job at UPC was drawing for Combat comics, and you’d never guess from his exterior that he was a genius at drawing mega-violent battles. He was short, slight, tidy, with combed black hair and round glasses. No love bites, no rumpled clothes or bed hair. I knew that most of his air of privacy and self-containment was shyness, a quiet barrier meant to keep others out of his space. I didn’t have a problem with that, as I had barriers enough of my own, but I’d never felt as if it had excluded me before.

I was the one who’d brought Stevo into our little social circle in the first place, when we’d both started working at UPC three years ago. We were the newbies at the company and ended up sitting together at a monthly meeting. He’d doodled a picture of a dwarf cutting off a giant’s head with a battleaxe and rolled his eyes when Anthony introduced him to the assembled throng, as if to say, What is this, a tea party?

He came round to our house initially to talk about work, but stayed to hang out. He’d been shy at first, but eventually he’d blended in. He taught Jim mah jong; he impressed Digger because for a small guy he could put away vast amounts of curry; and he was an awesome artist, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of war films and pop music.

But right at this moment I felt as if I’d never known him at all.

When the lift stopped we were the last two to get off. I cleared my throat, wondering how to broach the subject.

“So, how’s Br—” I began, and then the door to the conference room down the corridor slammed open.

“Brown! Ng! Get your ratty arses in here so I can start the goddamn meeting!”

If Anthony Alward’s speech were put into a speech balloon, it would consist mostly of the symbols @$%*!.

“All right, Chief,” I said, hastening into the room. I wasn’t sure how he’d got the nickname; I suspected he’d cultivated it himself. When I’d told Digger and Jim about this, Digger was very impressed at the concept and spent several days suggesting alternate nicknames for himself, including “Andre” and “Stud Man”.

Stevo and I squeezed onto the last free corners of a table. Aside from me and two women from sales who were wearing near-identical skirt suits and sitting together on a single chair, everyone else in the room was male. After shooting Stevo and me a look of daggers, Anthony began.

“Right, so now that you lot have bothered to show up, we’ll start with Lacey…”

I immediately zoned out and gazed happily at the walls. Here, framed, hung originals from Girl from Mars issues dating all the way back to the comic’s creation in 1951. Near the door was the splash page for Issue 1, showing Girl from Mars’s spaceship crash-landing on Earth, drawn by creator Dennis McKay. Pages from every decade since, including issues I’d read under my duvet at night as a teenager, circled the room. And then, glory of glories, three hundred and sixty degrees around the room, was my own front splash for Issue 662, “Sirius Business”.

A dream come true.

“Are you with us, Brown?”

“Um. Yes, Chief.”

“About shitting time. Now sales on Girl from Mars this quarter have been down seven point six per cent, and reader feedback says—”

Sales. I studied one of Wayne Jayson’s covers from 1984. I liked his angles and his starkness. Maybe I’d try a bit of a tribute with my next project, a nice little extra for long-term fans. I squirmed in my seat, picturing the geometry.

“—And we’re very excited about it. Sound good to you, Brown?”

“Um.” I sat up straighter and tried to figure out from Anthony’s face what he was very excited about. Unfortunately he looked about as excited as a brick in the rain.

“Sure,” I said. Damn. I didn’t need to pay attention to sales figures, but I came to these meetings to find out what was going to happen to Girl from Mars, and I’d just missed it.

He nodded grimly. “Obviously we’ll discuss this in more detail once we’re under way. That’s enough for today, get the hell out of my fucking face, you lot.”

I listened hard as we filed out of the room, trying to overhear someone discussing what Anthony had said about Girl from Mars. Mostly people were talking about lunch and their weekends.

Sixty seconds! My attention couldn’t have lapsed for longer than that. How much information could Anthony have conveyed in a minute? I jiggled on my feet until the lift door opened and then I pulled Stevo out of the building, fast.

“What was he talking about?” I demanded as soon as we were on the pavement of Vauxhall Bridge Road, pulling up our collars against the April rain.

“Who?” Stevo began walking towards Victoria.

“Anthony! He said he was excited about something. Anthony never gets excited about anything. It must have been something big. What was it?”

“Hmm. I don’t recall. Must not have been listening.”

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans and exhaled sharply in irritation.

“You could at least pay attention, Stevo, it’s your job.”

“Doesn’t seem like you were paying attention.”

“I was! But then I was thinking.”

“I come to these things because I have to, Fil. Not to act as a tape recorder for you.”

“I was only not listening for like ten seconds!”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”