‘Well, I hesitated. You were so angry, and we weren’t talking anymore. All of a sudden it seemed like a bad idea. Why would you want a bit of homework framed as a gift?’

‘I mean, have you met me? Of course I want a piece of homework framed.’

He laughs. ‘I know. My instinct was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually give to you. I was scared you’d laugh at me. Or yell at me. Or both. And it was so big. There was no easy way to give it to you without making a whole scene. So then I googled “what do fourteen girls like”.’

‘Oh my god. Then what?’ I can’t help smiling.

‘It said jewellery. So I bought you a necklace.’

‘You bought me a necklace?’

‘I did.’

‘What kind of necklace?’

‘It’s in there too. The square box.’

I put my hand in the bag and pull out a square jewellery box and open it. There is a black leather choker-style necklace with a big plastic red heart charm on it.

It’s hideously ugly and absolutely not my taste but I am touched, and I was also brought up to be appreciative of any gift, whether you like it or not, or, I guess in this case, whether you were actually given it or not.

‘It’s cute,’ I say, in what I hope is a believable way.

‘It was very expensive,’ he says.

‘It was?’

He bursts out laughing.

‘No! Look at it. It’s very cheap.’

I laugh too.

‘I still like it.’

‘You do not. You couldn’t. It’s truly awful.’

‘So you chickened out of giving me this as well.’

‘It was a heart. A big red plastic heart. I realised after I bought it that I couldn’t give you a goddamn heart necklace. And that I’d never even seen you wear a necklace anyway.’

‘Wow. You really went through a process.’

‘I haven’t finished yet.’

‘There’s more?’

‘There’s more,’ he says.

I am laughing now, I can’t stop.

‘Oh no,’ I say. I am picturing Jesse anguishing over these gifts and the thought of it, the thought of his uncertainty and clumsy desire to make things right, is filling me with tenderness.

‘I thought maybe I could make you something,’ he says. ‘My stepmum had these paint-a-mug kits, so I decided to paint a mug for you.’

‘That sounds promising.’

‘It did not go well.’

I pull out the mug. It has a face on it, a terrifying face that looks kind of distorted and almost clown-like.

‘Who is that? Is that me?’ I ask.

Jesse is laughing, almost too hard to answer.