‘I don’t know. It was my first go at writing on a cake. Next time I’ll try not to make so many blobs.’

‘Don’t knock yourself like that,’ he said, looking up at me, his forehead creasing. ‘Why focus on the one small thing that’s not perfect, when the rest is so good?’

‘Um…’

I fidgeted about for a couple of seconds, lost for words and now sweating profusely underneath my hood.

‘Are you taking it over to the school?’ he asked, face hopeful. ‘Is it some kind of Christmas goodwill gesture – the principal’s daughter bakes for the delinquents?’

‘Well, I thought you deserved a change from gruel and stale crackers, seeing as it’s Christmas.’

‘How very kind, miss. We do so appreciate your thinking of us like this.’ He tugged at a lock of his hair.

‘If I were you I’d finish chopping that wood before the other reprobates have eaten it all.’

He hefted the axe high above his shoulder, then slammed it into the block of wood that he’d been splitting the logs on. ‘I’m done here. Your darling dad said I had to keep chopping until I’d stopped wanting to punch a hole in the wall.’ He pulled a baggy grey jumper over his head. ‘I think I’ve found something that works even better. Next time I need to calm down, I know who to look for.’

I was trying to remember how to breathe when the moment was totally ruined by my mum bellowing from the main house doorway. ‘Beatrice, is that you? Please stop dilly-dallying and bring that cake inside.’

I could see her peering closer to identify who had caused my delay, her tall frame stiffening when she realised it was a male, probably even more so because it was this particular male. ‘Now!’

I hurried down the path, barely noticing how Mum watched my every step from up ahead, her opinion fading into irrelevance compared to that of the person following behind.

Over the last few days of term, my initial attraction rapidly evolved into obsession. It was as though everything about my life before had been pointless and petty. I finally understood all those poems and plays, had indeed written more than a few verses myself, and felt sure I would be consumed by this strange fever burning through my bloodstream, if I didn’t get a chance to do something about it soon.

Every afternoon I raced home from school on my bike, torn between hurtling up the two flights of stairs to my attic, where I could style myself into the kind of person people like him were attracted to, or heading straight for where the Charis House Christmas Spectacular rehearsals were in full swing in the old ballroom, now repurposed as the school hall, so I could spend as much time as possible in the same room as him.