Wanting this to be nice.

Hoping we can be friends.

Well I am. He’s probably worried he’ll get a repeat performance of my clambering all over him, then having a minor meltdown. Embarrassing.

‘She’s good. She’s in Cornwall doing all the things she wishes she’d done earlier. Including threesomes—’ His eyes open wider. ‘In a kayak!’

‘Haha, very funny.’ His voice is dry, then he chuckles. Oh my God I’d forgotten what that does to my insides. From being all dried up and curled up like withered lettuce leaves they spring back to life, unfurl. I feel lighter. It’s impossible not to smile back. To laugh with him. Then he stops laughing and stares at me. ‘She’s fabulous, your mum. You’re lucky.’

My throat is dry. ‘I know.’

‘You should make the most of your time together.’

‘Oh, she’s way cooler than me these days, I’m not sure I can keep up!’

‘You know what I mean.’ He touches my hand briefly, and I suddenly feel like grabbing him and crying, because I know from the tremor in his voice, from the dryness of his lips, that it’s important. ‘Look,’ he takes a deep breath, glances at me, then down at his feet, ‘there’s something I probably should have told you. A reason why losing Millie hit me so hard, and probably, well probably brought out all that shit I laid on you when I was pissed, about love being so crap, and destructive, and …’

‘I know you were close to her, I know she meant—’

‘It wasn’t just losing Millie.’ He looks back up and this time his gaze locks on to mine. ‘My mum died when I was twelve years old. Twelve.’

‘Oh God, oh Noah, I—’

He holds a hand up to stop me talking. ‘I reckon it’s shit to lose your mum at any age, but it just seemed so complicated then. It kind of destroyed my faith in everything a bit, and screwed me up when it came to getting close to people. Then I met Millie and she was cool, she really helped me, and I guess she gave me a get out. An excuse not to get involved with other girls. I was too young to have that “regret not doing more with her” thing, but I wish I’d been older; I wish I’d known her better. You need to forget your dad, make sure you love your mum enough.’

It would be wrong to hug him right now, try and chase the hurt away. He needs to talk this out, we need to talk this out. ‘Do you remember much about her?’

I can’t imagine what it was like for him. I’d be devastated if I lost Mum, and I get now why he said we were lucky to have each other.

‘A bit. The hugs, the smell of her,’ he looks at me steadily, ‘I loved the smell of her, it meant I was safe.’ I swallow, blink, try to just sit still and listen. ‘And the love. She loved everything so much, she loved life.’ There’s a sheen to his eyes; my heart aches at the break in his voice, but I just rest my hand over his and wait. ‘She seemed to have this never-ending capacity to love, everybody, everything, the flowers, the sky, ice cream, the man in the street, stray dog, smelly tramp, traffic warden.’ His voice is steady again now as he digs into the memories, brings her back. ‘She used to tuck me in bed at night if I’d had a bad day and tell me kindness costs nothing and we’re all much the same inside. We all need love, hugs and hope.’ He stares up at me, as though he’d forgotten I’m here. ‘I’ve not talked about her for ages, not to anybody.’ He squeezes and I realise his fingers are threaded through mine.