Page 25

We love each other. Desperately, at times. We can’t stand to be apart and when I’m working Olly calls me ten times a day.

Most people think I’m lucky to be in this situation – living in West London, adored by a champion snowboarder.

So why do I feel, sometimes, like I’m losing myself?

Music is playing – Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The proper vinyl version. Olly has a turntable and boxes of records – all given to him by his mother.

‘I never know what to wear to your friends’ parties,’ I admit, rummaging in my makeup bag for my turquoise earrings.

All Olly’s female friends are so pretty. Effortlessly so. Hardly any makeup. A lot of them snowboard too, but only one is pro.

‘Do you know what?’ Olly pulls himself up on the bed, dragging his plastered leg onto the sheepskin rug. ‘I’m not really in the mood for this party. I shouldn’t drink right now. And getting across London with this leg … So if you’re not up for it either, why don’t we do something else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Jump in the camper van, head down to Devon, camp, have a BBQ, hang around on the beach. It’s supposed to be amazing weather this weekend.’

‘Olly, I don’t think camping with your leg is a good idea.’

A flash of annoyance passes over Olly’s handsome face. ‘It’s only a broken leg, Lizzie. I haven’t got cancer.’

‘Yes, but you should keep the plaster dry and clean. And what about your meds?’

‘Bloody hell. What, I can’t even go camping now?’

‘You shouldn’t. Not until your leg heals. I’m only saying this because I care about you.’

‘And how long is the healing going to take? Every time I see the specialist, he adds on another month.’ Olly thumps the duvet. ‘I feel sotrapped.I need to get back out on the slopes. Ineedto. Life is slipping away.’

I sense another argument coming on, so I say, ‘I know’, and sit on the bed, taking his hand. ‘But I’m here. We’ll make you well again. Okay? Just give it time.’

Olly’s blue eyes turn clear. ‘You really are an angel, do you know that? Looking after me. Playing the nurse. Putting up with me and my moods.’

My dad used to call me that. An angel.

I kiss Olly’s cheek and slide my hand into his. ‘I love you, Olly Kinnock. And you’ll heal. Just give yourself time.’

Olly turns to the window then. ‘Will I? I’m not sure. I’m forgetting who I used to be. What if I become this moody person forever?’

‘You won’t.’

‘How do you know? How do you know who I really am?’

I suppose we’ve only known each other a few months. Four seasons, that’s what my father used to say. You have to be with someone for four seasons, good and bad, before you really know them. I think he was making a comment about marrying my mother.

‘I love you,’ I say. ‘That’s enough for me.’

Suddenly Olly says, ‘I love you too, Lizzie Nightingale. Will you marry me?’

Just like that.

I laugh.

‘I’m serious,’ Olly says, pulling me into his arms. ‘I love you. You get me. Even when I’m like this. We’re meant to be together.’

‘Olly, we’ve known each other less than three months. We’re not even properly living together yet.’

‘Oh, so what?’ Olly kisses me, and for a moment everything is okay. Maybe we can get married and live happily ever after.