Josie packed her bag, checking off her list for this afternoon’s climbing practice. She had butterflies in her stomach, not because of the climb ahead, but because she was to see Callum again. He was like no other boy she’d met. At school, they acted in character and one had no idea who was really underneath it all. The talk was all of knives, weed and alcohol and it bored her. Anyone who carried a knife was an idiot. She knew there were gangs operating in the local area but she also appreciated that they were small time compared to somewhere like Manchester or Liverpool. It was one of the reasons she’d come to live with her dad, though she’d never told him: her best friend had been raped.

Safety was something that never crossed her mind until that night. They were tipsy but not blind drunk. They said goodbye at the corner of the main road like they always did and Josie went home to her mother. The next morning, the police came to their door asking for Josie to give a statement. They visited her friend in hospital and Josie refused to go out of the house for two weeks. Her mother suggested she go and see her father. It was the countryside: it might help heal.

It had. The nightmares subsided and she stopped looking over her shoulder all the time. She lost touch with her one time best buddy, who, she heard, had turned to hard drugs.

And now she’d met Callum. He didn’t have the swagger of teenage boys in the city. His dad was a tree hugging type who worked for the National Trust, or English Heritage, she couldn’t remember which. His little brother was adorable and said ‘hi’ to her when they Facetimed. He sent her stupid Snapchat pictures of his wonky eyes, and he commented on her Instagram page with cool emojis and code words they’d agreed. They’d gone from linking to proper dating in the space of days and now they couldn’t bear to be apart. He was her best friend. The climbing was something that had started as an excuse to meet but they genuinely wanted to keep going back.