They found their place by the hollowed-out tree. As they talked, she took out the Thermos she’d brought and poured the tea, spilling it over his mac, though he didn’t seem to mind. They ate some raisin cake washed down with weak tea.

‘I brought beer,’ he said, and poured some into their empty teacups. Dozy and laughing, they lay on their backs. Above them, the tops of the trees swayed in the breeze. He picked up her hand and kissed it. She wriggled and laughed but didn’t pull away. Their faces were close now. He leaned over her and kissed her mouth, biting at the bottom lip. She felt his tongue probing between her teeth and allowed him to prise them open.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and she murmured, unable to speak. His breath was malty and sweet with beer and cake. His hand crept down her dress to her legs and her skin rippled under his fingers. But it was too soon. She withdrew, pulled her mouth from his. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Aware of him watching her, she clambered on top of him like she used to do when they were children, tickling him and pinning him down. But he took her wrists and looked up at her without laughing, and she climbed off, confused.

She yawned and stretched, and moved an inch or two away from him on the coat.

‘Come on then, spill the beans. I’ve been dying to hear what you’ve been up to. Your letters say absolutely nothing. It’s been dull as ditchwater round here. No doubt Peter will bore you rigid about the farm. He’s desperate for Father to get a new-fangled milking parlour and stop doing any by hand so we can sell more to the dairy, but Father doesn’t want to. Says we can’t afford it. Peter doesn’t understand why not. They talk about money all the time. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s constant. But I just can’t be bothered with it any more, Arty.’ She looked at him, sighed. ‘I’ve been too busy with the books. Thank God it’ll be over soon.’

‘But when the exams are over, you can have the summer, can’t you? There’s no hurry, is there?’ he said, circling her ankle bone with tickling fingers.

‘Yes, I suppose I can,’ she said, and smiled at him, taking his hand off her ankle and holding it.

The summer, then. It was theirs to take.

They lay on their backs on the rug and she wondered if he would try to kiss her again but he didn’t. Her body relaxed and she closed her eyes. She felt his bulk next to her, his hand resting near her thigh, and she imagined what it would be like for him to be on top of her as she’d read about in novels.