Then the clock chimes, the one he used to wish would make their sessions pass as quickly as possible, and Atticus stands up and smooths down his shirt. It’s periwinkle today. ‘Well,’ he says, towering over Dan on the sofa, ‘that was the last second of the last minute of our last counselling. I feel entirely healed. I sleep like a baby and don’t even need caffeine any more. I shall review you most wondrously on TripAdvisor or Checkatrade. Now you are no longer my patient, or the other way around.’ He kneels, so that he is at eye-level. ‘Count Danula, please, please, may I take you out to dinner?’

‘Please will you tell me, once and for all, why you came to counselling?’ Dan says quietly, in return. ‘Please.’

They look at one another in silence for a moment. The expression on Atticus’s face is so sad that Dan wishes he hadn’t spoken.

‘Can I try?’ Atticus says, his voice also quiet, almost faltering. ‘One day? Would that be enough, Daniel? If I promise to try?’

Dan cannot breathe. The counsellor in him can see Atticus’s ice is growing thin. Dan could break through it now, if he wanted to. One hard push and he’d be in. Dan silently weighs his options. Wrong or right. Counsellor or companion.

‘I don’t know,’ he says slowly, finally. ‘This all puts me in rather a pickle.’

Atticus grins and it’s a perfect banana curve. ‘Daniel James, did you just make a joke?’

Dan blushes and feels like he’s just won the marathon, scored a goal and completed his Rubik’s Cube in a record time.

‘So you’ll let me take you out?’ Atticus says again, more seriously. More seriously than anything he’s said so far. Too overwhelmed to speak, Dan nods, and lets Atticus pull him up to standing, where they grin together, banana shenanigans, until Dan remembers his two o’clock must be waiting outside.

Lizzie

(Flirting and football)

WHEN SHE GETS BACK to the school, Mr Williams (call me Luke) is waiting for her in the office. There is an awkward moment when he peels the sticker, with her name and School helper on it, off the strip and obviously doesn’t know whether he should attach it to her cardigan or pass it to her. Lizzie can’t help him, because she doesn’t know either. While he’s deciding, hand hovering near Lizzie’s breast, the ends curl and stick together and they both blush. The receptionist watches with one eyebrow raised.