‘Better,’ he pauses, ‘coping. But he’s never gone back to being the Jed I knew.’ He stares at me. ‘There’s a bit of him missing. There’s a bit of all of us missing.’

‘You were fond of her as well?’ I ask tentatively. This goes beyond him just feeling sorry for his friend.

‘She was gorgeous, just like you are. And she’s gone, just like, just like … You want another drink? I want another drink!’

‘Or shall we go back to mine?’

‘Will the nosy woman with the key be there?’

‘She hasn’t got a key, you took it off her, remember?’

‘Haha, yes! We have the key! Come on then.’

We wobble our way down the road, and it just feels right to slip my hand into his. A moment later he pulls free, and I feel like I’ve lost a part of me, then his arm is around my shoulders and it feels like it belongs there. We’re offering each other support – mentally and to stop ourselves falling over.

We stare at each other when we get to my front door.

‘This is me.’

‘I know.’

‘Coffee?’

‘Maybe not a good idea.’

I think the walk has sobered him up. He’s right, maybe not.

We both know that this could go horribly wrong if one of us should take a step forward, if one of us should reach out. If he puts his hands on my waist, or I put mine on his shoulders. If our lips were to meet. I know it would be perfect. I know it’s what I want.

I know it would change everything. Spoil everything. Be the beginning of the end.

But oh my God I wish he would.

Because maybe he isn’t the man I thought he was. Maybe he’s not like my dad at all.

But it would still end in tears. Mine. Because I’d just be another girl who wants more than he can give. Like Daisy.

He gives me a gentle shove. ‘Night, Rosie.’

‘Night, Noah.’

His words are soft, and mine match, but I don’t think he hears. He’s already turned away, waving briefly at the bottom of the path without looking back.

Chapter 14

Noah has gone a bit strange on me. You know when you get up in the morning and you have that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach, because you know things aren’t right?

That.

I suppose it’s my own fault. When he didn’t reply to my first text, I should have taken a deep breath and left it. But I didn’t.

It’s just I find it so frustrating if I text somebody about something and then I don’t get a reply. Even though the original text wasn’t that important. I text again, then start to panic that things aren’t right, that I’ve said the wrong thing. So, I text again. And before I know it, I’m getting more and more wound up about something stupid and there is no way back.