The little ‘Read’ tick appears on all of them until around Sunday afternoon. Then he stops reading them.

And he says nothing. He doesn’t reply.

As soon as Victoria gets home from her exam on Monday, I tell her all about it.

“He’s not replying,” I say. It’s actually embarrassing how panicked I sound. “What does that mean?”

She stands at the door, not even taking her shoes off.

“You got those photos?” she says.

“In my room.”

“Go get them.”

“Why?”

“We’re posting them through his letterbox.”

“Why will that help?”

“Because texts are dumb.” She shrugs. “And a gesture is needed.”

I laugh. “Who are you?”

“A born-again woman. Willing to put aside my apathy for the sake of romance.” She blinks and puts her hand on her heart. “Jesus, I gave myself indigestion saying that out loud.”

Victoria’s friend Becky drives us. Becky keeps looking at me in the rear-view mirror. I’ve never been truly sure whether Becky likes me or not, but right now, I don’t think it matters.

It only takes a minute to drive there, but Victoria says we have to drive because a quick getaway will be vital to the success of the ‘gesture’. Sitting in the back seat, I flick through the photos again. Should I post all of them through the letterbox? Just a few? Just one?

I make the decision and take a pen out of my pocket.

NICK

I get home from my Monday afternoon exam, dump my bag on the floor in the hallway and fall on to the living room sofa. It didn’t go too badly today. Only two more to go, and then that’s it. Summer.

Summer. What am I going to do with all of that time?

I almost don’t want my exams to end now.

Charlie started sending me blank texts on Saturday while Sai was round. I don’t really know what they’re supposed to mean. My phone’s quite old and I dropped it down the stairs a couple of months ago so I assume it’s a glitch. I haven’t turned it on since yesterday afternoon. Seeing Charlie’s name keep popping up was making my stomach lurch every single time.

“Nicky? Is that you, love?” My mum calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I shout.

“You’ve got post.”

I groan and rise from the sofa. I stumble towards the kitchen and walk towards the table, where there’s a brown envelope with the word ‘Nick’ on it, no address.

It’s in Charlie’s handwriting.

And my stomach lurches harder than it has done all weekend.

“Oh my God,” I say.

“What’s up?” Mum brings two mugs of tea over to the table and sits down, looking at me expectantly.

“It’s from Charlie.”

Mum gapes. We both stare at the envelope for a long moment.

“Well, open it then!”

And I do.