Her imaginary Lorraine reacts in any number of ways.
On Saturday morning, the day after the end of term, Nikki goes for a run. Sun shining, adrenaline pumping, vision blurring. The good kind. She hears herself say "...going for a drink, later?" and Lorraine tosses her silky, shiny hair and says "yeah, sure, I could do with a drink" and she's not sure if they're friends now or more, and that little frisson of uncertainty is sweet and exciting.
The phone is ringing when she stumbles back into her front room, and it's her oldest brother, chastising her for never visiting. The kids would love to see her. He's been promoted at work and in Nikki's head, Lorraine tosses her hair again and says, breezily "can't tonight, I'm supposed to be Skyping with my European Networks guy in Brussels, another time, though, yeah?".
She burns her fingers on her dinner for one, and suddenly Lorraine is leaning back, mouth twisted, saying "no, I'm going out with my boyfriend", and her stomach drops. By the time she's sat down and had a glass of wine, Lorraine's still knocking her back, but good-naturedly, laughing "I'll call you if I ever decide to swing that way".
The sappy film she half-watches that night makes imaginary-Lorraine bold, and she asks straight out "like mates, or like a date?". Nikki plays out both scenarios, and they're both good, they both end with drinking and laughing and the blonde nestled close to her.
As she lies in bed, listening to waves crash in the distance, things go differently. Her own voice, again, "Look, do you fancy going for a drink, later?" and Lorraine says something, maybe "I'm not much of a one for waiting", or "that's not what I'm thirsty for", or maybe she doesn't say anything, but she leans forward and her lips just touch Nikki's, and then they're kissing, really, properly, gloriously kissing, and Lorraine's on her tiptoes, mouths moving, arms snaking around each other, Lorraine's fingers stroking her neck, then her lips moving to the same sweet spot as they gasp for forgotten air, and they're not in Michael's office, they're here, on her bed, and Lorraine...
That's not what happened, though.
They're back in Michael's office, and she lets herself see for a second the enchanted look on Lorraine's face as they break away from her imagined kiss. But it's only a second, and then all she can see, awake in the dark, is Lorraine's face, plaintive and terrified. Her actual face, the one that's been etched into Nikki's memory all day, underneath her fairytales. Her actual reaction, not a yes or a no or a maybe or a kiss, just a noise, equally plaintive and even more terrified.
Because imaginary-Lorraine – the one based on everything she's known about the blonde, from directness and decisiveness to the way she talks, to how she moves her hair, months of half-noticed and semi-remembered quirks, all the evidence from their blossoming friendship – reacts. Whatever she does, it's a reaction, a definite. Something to be sure of.
She finally falls asleep, the day after the moment, with the look on Lorraine's face, caught out of the corner of her eye just as the door closed behind her. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide, hand almost outstretched. Longing, maybe. Still afraid, yes.
Her last thought is to wonder how it is that imaginary-Lorraine can always be so sure, and what happened to real-Lorraine, in that moment, looking at Nikki, to change her completely.