Mum asks me what’s wrong on Sunday afternoon. I tell her me and Charlie had an argument.

“Oh, you two’ll get that patched up though, won’t you, love?” she says, and then leaves the kitchen before I have the chance to say: not necessarily. Maybe not. Maybe this is it.

CHARLIE

Wednesday arrives and I still haven’t done anything and neither has Nick. I guess I hoped if I waited long enough, he’d be the one to text me first, or call me, or something. But there’s nothing.

Honestly, I have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe he really does want to break up. Why else would he have just lost it at me? He’s never been so angry with me before. God, I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to break up. I’m pathetic.

I try to distract myself with revision, but it doesn’t really work. My Thursday Latin language exam rolls around and it goes fine. I memorised all the vocab in the end; there’s nothing I’ll let stop me from doing my best in my exams. But I don’t feel happy when it’s over. I just check my phone for the six hundred billionth time. And there’s nothing, of course. Nothing.

I know I should text him, but if I ask whether he really does want to break up and he says yes, I don’t know what I’ll do.

What’s the point of a life without Nick?

Wow. I’m so embarrassing.

If he wants to talk to me, he will. If he doesn’t then I guess that’s it.

That’s the end.

NICK

Nine days since the party. A Sunday. I messed up my psychology exam on Friday, but I don’t think that was because of our argument. Everyone knows psychology A Level came straight out of hell.

I’ve got a few days until my next exam so I don’t do anything again this weekend. I don’t even take Henry for a walk; I ask Mum to do it. I just sit in my room, curtains shut, playing video games, watching TV, doing nothing.

Mum walks in at around 1pm to ask if I want lunch, but stops when she sees me wrapped up like a burrito in my duvet, my hair greasy and a property show on the TV.

She sits down on the bed. “You all right, Nicky?”

“Mmm.”

“How’s Charlie? I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

I blink slowly and look at her.

“We argued.”

“That was a while back though, wasn’t it, love?”

“Nine days.”

“And you still haven’t sorted it out?”

“No.”

“Oh, baby.” She pats what she thinks is my leg but is actually just a bit of lumpy duvet. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“He broke up with me.”