“What? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Yes.”

She breathes out. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” She holds out her arms for a hug and I sort of fall into them, still in my duvet-burrito form. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be all right.”

It takes quite a lot of effort not to start crying again.

“D’you want to order pizza tonight?” she asks. “Special treat.”

I nod. “Yes please.”

“I love you so much, baby. You’ll be okay.”

“Love you, Mum.”

But I don’t think I’ll be okay. Ever. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay ever again.

Four

FOUR

CHARLIE

Two weeks after the argument is my penultimate exam – music. A Friday. I don’t think about anything except my exams for the entire week. Well, except the fact that I can’t remember the last time I spent two days away from Nick, let alone two entire weeks. God.

Do I need to start trying to get over this? Because I have no idea how people do that. Nick is the best and most important person I have ever met.

God.

I go out with my friends that evening, just to Simply Italian for a big end-of-exams celebration meal, even though my last exam isn’t until next Thursday. I try to have fun and laugh at people’s jokes and talk about how horrible exams were, but everything’s fake. I don’t want to laugh at anything. I want to go home and sit in bed and do nothing.

I’m sitting next to Aled and he stays quiet for most of the evening, as he does. But as we’re all sorting out who’s paying what, he says, “Charlie,” and I look at him, and I see genuine concern in his eyes.

“Have you spoken to Nick at all?” he asks.

Word of our argument has spread everywhere, obviously.

“No,” I say, trying to keep any and all emotion out of my voice.

“So… is that it, then?” His voice is almost a whisper. “Have you, erm, broken up?”

“Yeah.” I realise that this is the first time I’ve said it. I’ve been distracting myself up until this point, but now I don’t have revision to distract me any more. And there it is. We’ve broken up. “Yeah, I, erm… I think so.”

Aled looks at me for a long moment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“No, but –” he shakes his head – “you’re Nick and Charlie.”

I laugh. “What does that mean?”

“It’s…” He laughs too, a nervous expulsion of air. “You’re… it’s hard to explain. It’s like, if you had to provide evidence for soul mates, everyone would pick you two.”

I snort. “There’s no such thing as soul mates.”

“Maybe. But you two present a pretty convincing argument.”