‘Lovely,’ I said, taking a sip which almost made me gag. I’d never drunk wine before – I’d never seen Dad drink it either. I’d only seen it in films. Dad would occasionally have a bottle of beer or two when he’d been to the supermarket, but that was it, and he never let me have any. The sticky red liquid made me cough, but I managed to force it down. It tasted kind of metallic but not exactly unpleasant. I took another sip.

Fred reached into the box behind him, lifted out a massive packet of crisps, opened it and offered it to me. I smiled and took a handful, instantly regretting it as I didn’t know how to eat them without looking like a pig. I tried to balance them on my knee and most of them fell onto the blanket. I pretended to not notice that they had fallen and said: ‘Thanks.’

He took a handful of crisps himself and shoved them into his mouth, munching loudly while I nibbled at one of mine. Cheese and onion – not my favourite. But never mind – I wasn’t here for the crisps. He eased himself down onto his side and propped his head on his elbow, looking up at me.

‘So then, Laura,’ he said, once he had swallowed his mouthful, ‘why don’t you tell me about yourself?’

‘Um … not much to tell,’ I stuttered, taking another sip of wine, for something to do rather than because I wanted to. ‘Mainly I’m just here with Dad.’

Mainly. That was a lie. I was always just here with Dad.

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m fifteen.’

‘Sweet fifteen and never been kissed,’ he said.

‘No,’ I contradicted. ‘You, uh, you kissed me, last time you were here.’

I felt something stir in me at the memory of it.

He gave me a puzzled look. ‘It’s a turn of phrase. Kind of. Though normally sweet sixteen – it just came to mind. But don’t tell me that was the first time you’d been kissed?’

I forced a laugh. ‘Of course not!’ I lied, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

Fred took a large glug of wine. ‘So, when you’re not doing your lessons, what do you do, all alone here with your dad?’

I shrugged. ‘Watch films. Read. Play my guitar. Usual kind of stuff,’ I said, not that I had any idea what the usual kind of stuff was.

‘You play guitar? You any good?’

I shrugged again. ‘Dunno. I’ve only played … on my own so I don’t know if I’m any good. I told Dad I wanted to learn and he bought me a guitar and a book. I taught myself.’