When she sees him walking back, her face lights up. Her enthusiasm dulls the shame of the cash in his pocket. He swallows, takes a breath to calm himself, to temper the craving which has hold of his whole body. He can’t push it. Can’t scare her. He knows it’s only a matter of time before she works out he’s not good enough.

Just like her mother said.

‘So this is Penzance,’ she says, scanning up and down Market Jew Street.

He smiles. ‘Yup. Impressive, huh?’

The smile falls off her face. She fixes her eyes on him, looks up through lowered eyelashes. Her hand drifts to her upper arm and she rubs it.

His skin bristles.

The seagulls sitting on the roof of the town hall screech at each other as he climbs on to the bike and turns the ignition. She discards her cigarette in the gutter and climbs up behind him. Her arms reach around his middle and she rests her chin on his shoulder. He can feel the warmth of her breath on his neck and it’s almost too much to bear.

They drive up towards Madron and on to Pendeen. When they reach the open stretch of farmland he lets go of the throttle and pushes the bike as fast as it will go. She tightens her grip on him, her hands slip beneath his T-shirt, and she presses her lips to his neck, before tipping her head back and crying out with exhilaration.

She yells something but her words are lost in the roar of the engine and whipping wind.

For the first time in years he remembers what it feels like to be happy; not the fleeting superficial happiness that comes with a spliff or a pint with his mates, but proper deep-down happiness. He briefly considers swerving hard to the left and careening headlong into the dry-stone wall to freeze the moment forever.

He doesn’t take the bike through the gate to The Cliff House, but stops outside, a little way up the lane. He kicks the rest into position. Stills the engine. She climbs off and faces him, glances self-consciously at the ground, reaches out to pull on his T-shirt playfully.

‘See you tomorrow?’ he asks.

She shakes her head and for a moment he braces, ready to hear her tell him it’s over before it’s even properly begun.

But she doesn’t end it.

‘I want to see you later.’ She takes his hand and pulls it to her mouth, opens her lips and gently bites the tip of his index finger.

His body explodes and when she touches her tongue to him his head swims. ‘When?’ he says with a strangled voice.