I watched, head tipped to one side, barely able to breathe as the van came close and stopped. Fred got out of the van and slammed the door.

‘Hey Laura,’ he said softly.

‘Hey,’ I squeaked, my voice coming out high and strangled.

He moved a step closer and I could smell his aftershave along with a vague hint of something very male – a bit like Dad’s bedroom. I breathed in slowly.

‘Why all the secrecy?’ he whispered.

‘Oh, you know …’ I stuttered. ‘My dad’s really overprotective.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. Dads can be.’ There was a pause, an awkward silence when neither of us spoke. Panicking that he’d go, I blurted out the first thing I could think of: ‘Do you like fixing washing machines?’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, it’s all right as jobs go. I’m looking for something better. Don’t want to be stuck here doing this for the whole of my life.’

I nodded frantically as if he’d just said the most profound thing ever, and he looked at me strangely. ‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I squeaked, and then breathed in deeply to try to calm myself down. ‘I’m fine,’ I said, hoping I sounded more normal, ‘I’m a bit out of breath from running down here, that’s all,’ I lied.

‘So how come you’re not at school today?’ he asked. ‘Or the other day? Are you ill?’

I shook my head. ‘No. Not ill. I’m home-schooled,’ I said. ‘By my dad.’

‘The protective one.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And what’s that like?’

I shrugged. ‘’s OK, I guess. Never known anything different.’

‘I didn’t like school. You’re not missing much.’

‘That’s what Dad says too.’

‘And what about your mum?’

‘She died when I was a baby.’

He pulled a face. ‘That’s rough. Shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.’

‘’s OK.’

We both fell silent again, but I carried on looking straight at him. His eyes were bright blue and his unkempt hair was falling in front of them. I wanted to stroke it, to push it away from his face, but I didn’t dare.

He touched the end of my hair, making my breath catch in my throat. ‘I love your hair. I like long hair on a girl,’ he said. ‘I like the way you look different to other girls. Most of them all dress the same, skirts too short, tops too tight, covered in make-up. But not you.’

‘Thank you,’ I croaked.

‘They’re stupid bitches,’ he added, his voice changing, suddenly bitter. ‘Slags. They all think they’re too good for the likes of me. Not even interested in talking to me. Will barely give me the time of day. But you – you’re different.’

He slowly lifted his hand towards my face and touched my cheek. I held my breath.

‘You don’t have a boyfriend?’