His eyes are like dark oceans and they’re looking at me. Only me. He’s smiling – just enough to reveal a whisper of a dimple in his right cheek. And his hair waves like seaweed above him.

His eyes move slightly and I feel them flutter over my lips, my cheeks, my shoulders. And things are wonderful. Perfect. Almost impossible. Until my hunger flips and I reach out my hand.

He swishes away, using limbs like powerful fins. He’s still smiling at me and this time he’s asking me to go with him. Up, up, to where the water breaks. His legs kick, and his arms carve the water like butter, until he’s torpedoing to the surface.

I kick my legs, too. I battle my arms and wrench my body. But instead of going up with him, I sink. Lower. Lower.

Above me, he breaks the surface with a gasp. I reach out my hand. Try to cry out. And disappear into the black.

55

Alice

I wake up feeling tired, like I really have been swimming.

Dad comes in with breakfast and reads the paper out to me while I eat, stealing bites of sausage.

My phone buzzes. I ignore it.

Dad looks up. ‘You not going to get that?’

I shake my head, nodding at the paper. ‘Carry on.’

He does, reading something about a new use for horse manure, and my phone goes off again. And again.

He puts the newspaper down. And picks my phone up.

I leap on him. ‘Dad!’

He bats me off. ‘Rowan, eh? That’s your teenage delinquent streamer friend, isn’t it? What’s he done to get in your bad books?’

I wrench the phone from him and stuff it under my pillow next to the sequin star.

‘It’s called privacy, Dad.’

I can feel myself blushing and Dad smiles, popping a slice of avocado into his mouth. ‘Oh, I see. He’s in your good books! Well, well, my little Alice is in love.’

I pick up a pillow and stuff it over my face. ‘Oh my God.’

He pokes my leg. ‘You know, we never had “the talk”, did we? The old birds and bees. Well, Alice, when two consenting humans love each other an appropriate amount –’

I bat the pillow at him and tip my breakfast on to the floor in the process. He laughs, ducking out of the way. ‘Spoons! Spoons!’ he shouts.

‘Shut. Up. Then,’ I say with each hit.

He holds his hands up and I stop. ‘Look what you did to the carpet,’ he says, scooping egg up and pausing only a moment before eating it.

I grimace. ‘That’s it. Room ban. Your privileges have been revoked.’ He goes to argue, but I point to the door. ‘Out.’