In hindsight, she should have glossed over that day as a mistake – a lesson not to go drinking in the afternoon with a handsome bad boy – and moved on, but it had turned into this doomed romantic melodrama in her head. It wasn’t as if she’d ever particularly fancied Pete until that moment, but suddenly he was forbidden fruit; he had made a play for her, and she was flattered by the attention, giddy with the turmoil this had provoked in her heart. Imagine what would happen if they were inter-railing together, all the passion promised by that one single kiss! She would be ripping his clothes off in every European town and city they travelled through, collecting decadent new experiences like stamps in her passport.

And then, in the car with Aidan on the way back from the gig, it had all come to a head. ‘I’m not sure if we’re really right together any more,’ she had said, carelessly and – yes – cruelly. He had been getting on her nerves all evening. First, the way he’d tucked his shirt into his jeans like some kind of mummy’s boy. Also, the careful way he’d locked up the car and double-checked it in Truro – like anyone would want to nick that Gran-mobile! Even his natural chivalry wound her up, opening the door for her, buying her a drink – tiny acts of love that damaged, dirty Pete wouldn’t think to bother with. God, it was so annoying! Why did he have to be so nice? Nice was boring.

Poor Aidan. Poor nice, kind, doomed Aidan, who only had moments left to live at this point. He had turned towards her, his astonished face yellow under the street lights. ‘What are you saying?’ he’d asked, and the fear made his voice tremble like a vibrato. (Pathetic! Pete would never have acted so wimpishly.)

‘I mean . . .’ she began – and it had been like a delicious game for a moment: this tragic love-triangle, with her right at the centre, loving the torment of her dilemma. But she’d never finished her sentence because all of a sudden, a sharp bend was coming up and Aidan was still staring at her, distraught. ‘Watch the road. AIDAN, WATCH THE ROAD!’

Afterwards, everyone had wanted to establish how it had happened. The police, the doctors, Lorna, her dad, friends . . . they’d all asked so many questions.

Had he been drinking? Not a drop.

Was he speeding? She was pretty sure he wasn’t.

He was such a careful driver, though! Did anything startle him or distract him? Well . . .