‘I want to stay here.’ I stretch my fingers out and stroke them up his neck. I catch his gold chain, flick it up and let it fall back against his skin. He pulls away a bit, but I keep my hand on his neck. It feels as smooth as my own. ‘We can go anywhere you like,’ I say, ‘in a minute.’ I take a look down the lane, but there’s no sign of movement.

Rob smells very clean. He must wash every day. There’s probably a shower cubicle in his bathroom. Maybe even a power shower. He’ll have L’Oreal shower stuff to go with his hair gel.

We stand there together, watching the lane.

Then he tries again. ‘We could go to Luke’s. His parents are never in.’

I look up at his Smash Hits profile. Dropping my hand from his neck, I ask, ‘Why does he follow you everywhere?’ ‘What?’

‘He’s always with you.’

He doesn’t reply.

‘Is he why you don’t want to be here, with me?’

He perches back on the saddle. ‘Look. I’m going,’ he says. ‘You can come if you want.’ He pushes off.

I don’t move until he stops and looks back. ‘Come on then,’ he calls.

We head towards the lane. Rob’s staring ahead, balancing on his saddle and using his feet to push his bike along, not speaking. I keep one hand on his handlebars as I walk beside him.

Then I hear the hiss of a Walkman.

I thought he’d never come.

I see the bulk of him walking towards us, his long legs taking big strides through the grass. His hands are in his pockets. He’s stepping in time to the music. As he comes closer I recognise the hiss: Frankie’s ‘Two Tribes’.

Rob stops and grabs my hand. ‘It’s OK,’ he whispers.

But I can’t look at him now. I can’t take my eyes off the figure coming towards us.

‘It’s OK,’ Rob says again, his fingers sweating over mine.

The hissing gets louder. Rob keeps a tight hold of my hand, making my rings dig into my skin. But I don’t say anything. I stand there, not saying anything, until Shane notices us. He stops, but he lets Frankie play on.

Even though it’s dark, dark as death itself, I can tell he’s not quite looking at us. His eyes will be on the ground, moving across the grass, maybe flicking up my legs occasionally. But he won’t be looking at my face.

Rob’s not-real leather jacket creaks as he takes a big breath in.

Shane goes to move, to step past Rob’s bike, but Rob twists the handlebars so his wheel catches Shane’s shin.

Shane looks up at me. His dark eyes are soft.

Then he pushes past, knocking Rob from his saddle.