The third is the one I took of Nick, and it is a terrible photo. I laugh out loud. It’s hilarious actually – he’s mid-blink. He’ll probably throw it in the bin as soon as he sees it.

And the fourth one is the selfie we took together, Nick’s arm around my shoulders and our heads together, both of us smiling, a little lens flare from the sunshine falling across Nick’s chest. I look at that one for a while. Thursday was such a lovely day. I wish the past two weeks had been as lovely as that day.

There are a few after that still at school, several of Nick with his Year 13 friends and even a couple just of the school building itself, as if Nick just wants to remember what it looks like.

And then there’s the one of me in Nick’s car. Sitting with my legs tucked up on the seat, my sunglasses on, scrolling through my phone. It’s nice. I hardly ever see pictures of me like this; they’re almost always selfies or posed photos with friends.

The bus jolts suddenly and the photos fall off my lap on to the seat next to me. I slam my hand down on them before they fall on the floor but they’ve all spread out like playing cards, and one photo catches my eye.

It’s me, asleep in Nick’s bed. The streetlights outside send a soft orange glow through the thin curtains behind me. My hand is curled next to my face and my hair has gone all messy and pushed to one side, as it often does while I’m asleep, judging by what it looks like when I wake up every day. I don’t know when he took this one. I think I fell asleep before him but I honestly can’t remember.

Maybe it’s kind of a weird picture to take, but I can understand why Nick took it. I’d take a picture of him if he looked like that in my bed. God, that sounds creepy, doesn’t it? I don’t care.

As I flick through the rest of the photos, I start to realise that they’re all sort of like that, all tinged purple and blue and orange, muted colours, a little blurry, like polaroids at an art-school exhibition.