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Simmons – actually, yours is a bit of a tongue-twister too.’
    ‘Alice Strickwold. Jesus, that’s even worse.’
    ‘I’ll have to change my name to something simpler before you marry me,’ he jokes.
    A thrill goes through me. I know, I’m getting way ahead of myself.
    ‘Oi, you haven’t answered my question.’
    ‘About coming to visit you in Cambridge?’ he checks. ‘You might be sick of me by then.’
    ‘I doubt it.’
    ‘You won’t want me cramping your style when you’re meeting all these smart know-it-alls.’
    ‘I’m absolutely certain that’s not going to happen.’
    ‘You can’t be certain.’
    ‘Yes, I can. I don’t want to go out with some ponce from Cambridge University. They wouldn’t want to go out with me, anyway.’
    ‘No guy would ever turn you down.’
    ‘Stop it!’ I laugh. ‘How can you say that?’
    ‘You’re beautiful.’ He shrugs as if it were obvious, even though no one has ever said that to me before.
    ‘I think you’re gorgeous too.’
    ‘Come here and kiss me.’
    I do as I’m told.
    I can’t bear it when he leaves me that afternoon. The hours without him drag by like nothing I’ve ever known. I’ve never had a crush like this before. And yes, I am calling it a crush, even though the L word has popped into my mind on more than one occasion. My head tells me it’s far too soon to be using words like that, but, God, I like him so much. ‘Like’ really doesn’t cut it. I adore him . . . I fancy him . . . None of those phrases do it justice, either. I need him. I’m obsessed by him. That’s more like it. I’m not going to tell him this, though, for crying out loud. I sound like a nutcase and he’d run a bloody mile. I suppose I’m still in the honeymoon period.
    My dad arrives on Friday afternoon and it’s damn near impossible to concentrate during dinnertime when he’s talking about his week at work. My mum knows what’s up with me, I’m sure of it. She’s planned a jam-packed weekend for the three of us and I swear that she’s trying to keep me from Joe, unaware that he’s busy at the pub. After dinner, I try to watch telly because reading is futile, but even that won’t take my mind off him. I keep thinking about walking across the field to the pub so I can see him, but I’m too wary of facing his parents when I get there.
    When Mum and Dad go upstairs to bed I go outside to the gate and stand there, looking out into the blackness. In some small and silly way I feel like it’s bringing me closer to him.
    I wish he had a mobile phone so I could call him, but he’s putting all of his money towards a car.
    I turn and sit on the bench. It’s a clear night and the stars above are bright. Unlike in London, there is no orange haze here from streetlights. It’s beautiful.
    I finally cracked yesterday and told Lizzy about Joe. Her mum is recovering from the operation quite well, although they won’t know yet if they’ve removed all of the cancer. Susan starts chemo next week; it will be horrendous for her, let alone for my friend, who will have to watch her mother go through hell.
    Lizzy was surprised that I had met a boy – and even more surprised that I’d kissed him. We had both thought we’d be in a bit of a backwater here. She tried to sound excited for me, but I know she just wishes she were here having fun and that all this awful stuff wasn’t happening to her family.
    I suppose I should go to bed. I’m about to stand up, but freeze. Is that . . . a dog panting?
    ‘Joe?’ I ask quietly.
    ‘Alice?’
    I get up and run to the gate.
    ‘Where are you?’ I whisper into the darkness, and then I see him, stepping onto the track from the field. Dyson is already at the gate, wagging his tail. He crouches, ready to bark, and my reflexes work quicker than I would have ever given them credit for because I rush out of the gate and bend down to pat him rigorously before he can utter a sound. I don’t want him to rouse my parents. Their bedroom