“It’s not happening,” said Seb as he walked into the pub. He’d assumed Mark would be sat in his usual seat, pint in hand, trying (and failing) to chat up some gorgeous woman. He was almost completely right – there was a red, hand-shaped mark on Mark’s face.

“What’s not happening?” asked Mark. Then his expression changed. “Oh, you mean…”

“Funeral Parlour Girl? Yes,” said Seb as he pulled up a chair. “I think I can safely say that is definitely not happening.”

Mark leaned in towards Seb. “Well what happened?”

“Okay, so MySpace has these Bulletin things, right? And, invariably, people on MySpace tend to flood the Bulletins with pointless, inane, unnecessary and wholly stupid surveys and questionnaires.”

“I’m guessing Funeral Parlour Girl posted one of these surveys.”

“Yes,” sighed Seb. “And, suffice to say, it appears there’s someone else in her life. Someone else she has her eye on.”

“Bugger.”

“That’s what I said. Admittedly I said it a bit louder. And I may have used a slightly stronger word.”