Annabelle Whitfield answers the insistent ringing of her front door bell. It's 9:30pm on a Tuesday, so she knows it is only likely to be one person.

"Chlo? Is everything all right...?"

Chloë Shaw stumbles across the threshold and throws her arms around Annabelle's neck, partly in order to steady herself. She attempts to kiss Annabelle on the lips, sloppily, but the older woman doesn't respond.

She does hold the girl steady, though, pressed against her, one hand under her demin jacket. It rests on the bare skin in the small of Chloë's back, between her cut-off top and the waistband of her jeans. "Chlo, have you been drinking again?" Chloë's body is warm against hers, warm and soft, and Chloë is obviously in a good mood for once. (Although Annabelle is well aware that could change on a sixpence if she's been drinking – and especially on an empty stomach. She's fairly certain that Chloë won't have eaten much.)

Chloë presses herself up against the older woman, assuming in her drunken state that her lover will be pleased to see her. "Couple of ciders with Phil and the guys after our rehearsal. I think I like being in that choir, they can party." Deep down, she is aware that she shouldn't be crashing drunkenly into Anabelle's house like this on a weeknight, and that she shouldn't have let herself get distracted by the pub, but – having had a few drinks – the deep association she feels between Annabelle and comfort is dominant, and her drunken single-mindedness won't allow her to pass up seeing the woman.

Annabelle reluctantly draws back from the hug. She does so wish that being involved with this lovely girl weren't so tiring. After nearly two years of patiently listening to her try and work through her confidence issues and her poor self-image, Annabelle feels that she has run out of the necessary emotional capital. Whatever she can offer Chloë obviously isn't enough to lift the girl out of her trough, when even her music won't save her from herself. She supports Chloë as the girl manages – with some effort – to get her ankle boots off, then leads into her small kitchen. "You'll need to eat."

Chloë leans against the door jamb for support, as if buying time and collecting herself. "F'cking starving, to be fair, Belle."

Annabelle indicates a stool at the small breakfast bar. "Well, if you can get yourself up onto that and stay upright, I'll see what I can do." She takes some leftover cottage pie from the fridge (left over from the weekend, when Chloë was last with her, and sober and charming), and starts to heat it up. "For goodness's sake. What were you doing having a drink tonight?"

"Drinking, obviously." Chloë fiddles myopically with her phone then pushes it aside. "Socialising. Trying to fit in with these guys I've just started singing with. Trying to fit in. Somewhere." Chloë rests her head on her arms. "It was only a quick drink."

"How long did that quick drink last?"

Chloë shrugs and flexes her shoulders, as if trying to physically work out the guilt and the alcohol. "An hour? I've had a couple." She folds her arms on the breakfast bar and rests her head on them. "Don't worry about the food, Belle...I think I need to sleep."

Annabelle crosses to her quickly and slaps her back upright. "Oh no you don't. No arguments, Chlo." She looks down Chloë quickly – such a lovely, promising girl, throwing herself away; for the first time, she feels keenly not just her own disappointment at not being able to help more, but is almost overwhelmed by her disappointment in Chloë, and by her anger at the girl's self-pitying, short-sighted stupidity. She blinks away what could be the start of a tear, and bites back on her irritation. She keeps her voice level but doesn't attempt to hide her frustration. "You're not going to waste this cottage pie, now I've got it going again. God, Chlo. Sit up, and for once in your life, buck up. For goodness' sake."

Chloë is shocked into obedience, and eats the reheated meal she is offered. She also doesn't fully realise that it's Annabelle's spare bed she's led to and left to sleep in, fully clothed.

*

In the morning, Annabelle places a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol on the cabinet and shakes Chloë awake. "Ten minutes, Chlo. I'll drop you off on my way to work."

She returns to find the younger woman sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands. The pills and half the water have gone. Annabelle kneels in front of Chloë, gently taking her hands and resting their foreheads together. Annabelle is very aware of her lover's knees pressing onto her breasts, and the warmth of her legs through her jeans, where their hands are clasped in Chloë's lap. But she sets her attraction aside. "We need to talk about this. About us, and how we deal with all this."

Chloë looks at her blearily, questioningly. "About us?"

"About this self-destructive behaviour of yours, and the effect it's having on our relationship." Annabelle sighs. "God knows I love you dearly, but I can't carry on like this. And I think you know you can't either. Especially if you get this job you've got an interview for tomorrow."

Chloë groans and pulls a hand away to rub her eyes. "Shit, the interview." She moves her legs a little, her knees stroking Annabelle's breasts. "I'm sorry, Belle."

Annabelle stands up, so she can't allow Chloë to turn her on despite herself. "I know. You always are, and I always believe you. But something needs to change." She pulls Chloë to her feet and strokes her disarrayed hair away from her face. "We'll talk about it on Friday."

Chloë moves past to find her bag and shoes. "Friday?"

"I've got Messingbrough Forties Festival this weekend, so it's Friday or nothing till next week." Annabelle follows her into the hallway. "After last time, I assumed you wouldn't want to come to Messingborough."

Chloë feels a twinge of guilty relief at being given a get-out card. She'd recently made her feelings plain about being made to accompany Annabelle to her re-enactment events – an activity she neither understood nor enjoyed, in fact found more than a little weird. "Oh, yeah, right. Probably best not." She shrugs her jacket on, and zips up her boots. "OK. Ready when you are."