‘That’s not the point. I’d told her everything that had happened, everything that he’d done, and still she’s going out with him? I can’t understand how she’d do that to me.’

‘Ah listen, Eva, I wouldn’t take it to heart. That’s the way it is at your age. You try people on for size. It’s all part of growing up. Don’t worry about it.’

She was stung by his casual dismissal but didn’t say it. Instead, she sat in sullen silence, thinking of how easy it was for him to shrug her off, to remind her of the age difference between them. She had expected outrage from him at Alicia’s callous disregard for her friend’s feelings, but Ross seemed more concerned with their relationship being exposed. And while she understood his fear, part of Eva was thinking ahead – people would discover the truth at some point, they couldn’t hide it for ever. Privately, she nursed a fantasy about the day Ross would leave Becca so they could set up their own home together, little Jo staying over at weekends. Part of her was convinced it was inevitable so why prolong the wait?

‘But I’m glad you didn’t tell her about us,’ Ross went on, ‘because it’s really important that no one finds out about this. It’s our secret, right? Just you and me – that’s what matters. No one else needs to know.’

‘I haven’t told anyone.’

‘Good. Because we’d be in a world of pain if this got out.’

She laughed, but there was an edge of annoyance to her laughter. His warning tone irked her. It gave her an unwelcome Sunday-evening feeling, school the next day, homework not done.

‘I’m eighteen,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s not like it’s a crime.’

‘Maybe it should be,’ he remarked grimly, hunched over the steering wheel, staring hard at the road ahead. ‘I’m almost forty, Eva.’

‘I know how old you are. I don’t care.’ She reached over and put her hand on his thigh. ‘Our ages don’t matter. All that counts is us being together.’

‘For however long it lasts,’ he muttered, and she felt a lick of panic in her stomach.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘It’s autumn now. Soon it’ll be winter. We can’t keep driving around the Wicklow mountains looking for a place to fuck in the freezing cold.’

He hadn’t called it that before. Fucking.