Suddenly she feels cheerful again, more confident that things will work out for the best for Sam: for them all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘You’re behaving like a child,’ says Alistair.

Cosmo knows that he is but he can’t help himself. He paces up and down, staring across Batson Creek, clutching the phone to his ear, willing Al to understand.

‘It’s just so different here, Al,’ he says, hearing the pleading note in his voice and despising himself for it. ‘It’s not Becks’ kind of place anyway. Not really.’

Even that isn’t entirely true. It would be a novelty to her, though she’d become bored quickly. It would be impossible not to bump into people he is beginning to get to know; people who are already linking him with Amy.

‘What’s that screeching noise?’ asks Al.

‘Seagulls,’ answers Cosmo. ‘The signal’s not great in the house. Texting is OK but I have to make calls from the end of the garden.’

‘So you want to tell Becks that you were already planning to come to London next weekend. What reason would you give?’

Cosmo has given this a lot of thought. Becks will know that he can download any music or books he might want and that he can buy himself some clothes if he needs some. At last he hit on the one thing she doesn’t really understand or have any interest in. He tests this on Al.

‘It’s some of my camera stuff,’ he says. ‘I never thought it would be so amazing here. I’ve got a blog now and someone’s put me on to Newsflare. They’ll buy videos and things if they’re really good. I was talking to a guy about it in the Coffee Shop.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ says Al.

Cosmo sighs with relief. Al isn’t into the photography thing either.

‘I really need your help here, mate,’ he says, using the voice that he’s always used when he needs Al to bail him out. ‘I did you a favour coming down here so your mum and dad could go away. You owe me.’

‘So what have you told this girl?’ asks Al. ‘What did you say her name is?’

Cosmo wishes now that he’d never mentioned Amy, although he hasn’t actually told Al her name. For some reason, keeping it a secret helps her to seem less real, as if it’s a kind of game and all part of this other world he’s living in now.

‘I haven’t told her about Becks,’ he answers rather sulkily, ‘but she knows I’ve got my own flat in London. Look, it’s no great deal. Do we have to have the third degree?’