Inside the envelope is a photograph – the sort you get developed from disposable cameras. And I know immediately that I took this one. I remember the exact moment I decided to take it, walking into my room after getting a glass of water to find Charlie curled up so beautifully in my bed, the orange street-lamp light shining on his skin, and I felt like if I was going to die, this would be what I wanted to see last.

I turn the photo over and there’s Charlie’s handwriting.

Hey. You take a lot of pictures of me. D’you have a crush on me or something? How embarrassing. If you wanna talk, I’ll be at the Truham Primary School Summer Fete tomorrow (Tuesday) at 3 o’clock... wow this isn’t a rom-com lol. I’m sorry for how sappy this is. Btw I love you. Ok bye xxxx CHARLIE

I haven’t felt this nervous since I had to do my bloody Head Boy campaign speech in front of the entire school.

What if Nick didn’t even see the photo? What if it, like, slipped underneath the doormat? Or his mum threw it away by accident? What if he saw the photo, tore it up, and didn’t even notice the note on the back?

What if he read it and still doesn’t turn up?

I arrive at Truham Primary School’s Summer Fete, which takes place every year on their school field, with Victoria and our dad at around two o’clock. We spend most of the following hour wandering round with our younger brother, Oliver, who’s in Year 4 at the school. Dad gives him money to do the tombola and play on the bouncy castle and the coconut shy, Victoria plays against him on the table football they’ve got set up in the middle of the field, and I mainly stand there, repeatedly checking my phone and searching around for my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend? No. Not ex. Not yet.

I’m not giving up yet.

At quarter to three I go and wait near the entrance to the field, just inside the tennis court. It reminds me too much of the Truham tennis court, the day when all this had started, all these stupid, pointless feelings.

Charlie Spring

(14:54) i’m in the tennis court!! if ur coming

He doesn’t text me back. It doesn’t even say he’s read the message. I feel myself start to sweat a little. Is this it? Am I going to give up after this? Am I going to be able to give up?

What am I going to say to him? Am I just going to beg him not to break up with me?

What if he turns up and still says he wants to break up?

I take a deep breath.

This is it, I guess.

I look up and watch as Nick walks through the tennis-court gate.