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‘Won’t we all, hun. But look, you’ve already started your prep here, building your patchy base tan with me. Come. It will be fun. And I hate to say this out loud but, out of all of us, you need a bit of fun.’

She says that so sweetly, not in a mean way, but she’s seen all that’s happened to me in the last few months.

Now is the time to start putting things right.

I laugh. I like how she’s so relaxed about this – just pack a bag, come on holiday.

The fact is, I can, right? It’s the summer holidays and I don’t have to think about Paul or any of the responsibilities of being in a relationship.

I can put distance between us and his interminable stream of emails trying to argue with me about how we split our savings accounts.

I can just hop on a plane with my cousins and escape, again.

For fun. Nothing more. That is a nice feeling.

‘Can I…?’ I mumble.

‘Think about it? I’ll tell her you said yes.’ Beth beams, and I smile back.

I sit back in my seat. Maybe it is that easy. I’ll have to find the bottom half of this bikini though. A holiday. That might be a good thing.

‘There better be space in there for me, girl…’ a voice with a strong West Indian accent rings out, emerging from around the corner. I turn to see my neighbour carrying a white plastic garden chair, wearing a large floral muumuu, a broad-rimmed straw sunhat on her head.

‘You are just in time, Maureen. Come dip your feet in. This is my cousin, Beth, who’s visiting me today. The teacher one I was telling you about…’

‘Of course. Hello, sweetheart. God, it’s bloody boiling, isn’t it?

I had to take my bra off so ignore me,’ she tells me, dragging her chair along the grass and pitching it up next to us, kicking off her burgundy leather sandals to put her feet in the paddling pool.

‘And you got Cornettos? Where’d you get those from?

All the supermarkets are sold out. Show a lady some love, please. ’

I smile and reach into my stash. ‘Small Tesco.’

‘Beautiful and clever.’ Maureen is my nearest neighbour in this building, someone who burst into the hallway when I first arrived and asked me a million and one questions.

She surprises me once a week with something she’s acquired from the middle aisle of Aldi.

In return, I paint her nails because I’m cheaper than the salons on the high street.

I watch her dive into her ice cream and sit back in her chair .

‘Oh, my days, look at you in your bikini with your perfect ta-tas,’ she says cackling. ‘Putting all us girls to shame.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I answer. ‘You can get yours out too.’

She laughs. ‘The people aren’t ready for that, baby, the cars would all be crashing.’

Beth smiles. ‘Yeah, your little B-cups don’t get what we big ta-ta girls go through in the summer. Am I right, Maureen?’

Maureen holds her ice cream aloft. ‘Solidarity, right there, sister. I sometimes have to lift mine and hold the underparts to the fan.’

We all sit there giggling. ‘I got the job, by the way, Maureen.’

She beams. ‘I had no doubt. My sunshine Suzie. If you hadn’t, I’d have gone down that school myself and had words.

’ To get that sort of validation from someone who’s known me only a few months makes me a bit emotional so I down some beer to keep the feeling to myself.

‘You know they’re doing those lunchboxes down in Aldi on special.

I’m going to buy you one so you have something nice to put your sandwiches in come September. You want one too, sweetie?’

Beth smiles. ‘I’d love one.’

She smiles and reaches into her bag to take out a paper fan and some sunglasses.

‘Then I’ll need to bring you back something nice from holiday…’ I tell her.

‘You’re going away? Where to, baby?’ she asks, fanning her face furiously.

‘Mallorca. With Beth and her sisters.’

She nods approvingly. ‘Amen to that. My girl needs some sun and sangria.’

‘What can we bring back for you?’

‘You find me some lovely Spanish man, please. Someone who’ll know how to handle my maracas, if you know what I mean,’ she chuckles .

And we all double over laughing in that little corner of our garden, drowning out the sound of people still arguing in the street, the sun beating down on us and our paddling pool, the ice cream melting so fast it drips down my fingers. I lied before. For now, this is pretty perfect.

Charlie

There are sounds that define a British summer.

The hum of a lawnmower in the distance, people laughing in their gardens, kids screaming in joy as they don’t have to be cooped up indoors and – probably my most favourite sound of all – the metallic jingle of an ice-cream van echoing through the streets, making my heart sing with nostalgia.

I can hear it now in this empty house and there’s still that part of me that perks up to hear that music.

Is it close? Is it in my street? What’s that tune he’s playing?

I head to my front room window in a wild frenzy and see the van whizz down the street.

Hold up. I’m here. I have earned this. I slip on some sliders, whip off my suit jacket and grab my wallet, doing one of those uncomfortable jogs down the pavement to where they’ve parked up.

Oh man, it is scorchio. I can feel the heat rising from the paving slabs, the tarmac almost simmering.

I bet you a fiver I’ll see a TikTok of someone trying to fry an egg on the road in the next week.

I roll up my sleeves and loosen my tie, getting a glimpse of my black work socks and my brother’s Adidas sliders making a real sartorial statement.

I’d perhaps care if I didn’t see so many people emerging from their houses in a complete panic to reach the van before it moves on.

The dad who’s been sitting in his garden in football shorts and some mismatched T-shirt he found to keep things appropriate.

The mum who’s slipped on her trainers with the backs bent in.

The kid in a swimming costume, running around like she’s on holiday.

This isn’t the Costa del Sol, lovely. It’s West London.

Make sure to dodge all the recycling bins.

I stroll up to the ice-cream van and wait patiently in the pretty long queue that has formed there, perusing the menu in the window as families in front of me choose which cones and lollies they all want. Do I feel like a child? I do. It’s great. I want them all.

My phone rings in my pocket and I reach down to answer it. I don’t even get a hello. ‘It’s bloody hot. It’s too hot. I’m literally standing in the bank in the high street because they’ve got good air conditioning. They think I’m here to hold the place up, I’ve been stood in here so long.’

‘Maybe you could withdraw some cash to keep up the pretence, Max…’ I reply.

‘It’s why I’m calling you. I’m going to say big financial words every so often so they think I’m legit.

Mortgage. Pension. Savings bonds.’ I’m glad that the heat hasn’t just got to me.

It seems to have taken my little brother too.

‘Where are you? Are you at home? I’m ringing to hear about the job thing. How did it go?’

‘Got it,’ I say, smiling.

‘Knew it! There was no doubt. Happy?’

I stand there for a moment, the sunshine warming my face and I think I might be.

A successful interview can do that, massage the ego a little, especially after the cock-sock incident ousted me from my last school.

Not that I was fired but it wasn’t pretty.

After we managed to get that screen turned off, Krystal and I barely lasted a week, I had to attend several safeguarding welfare meetings and of course, because of the nature of schools, the rumour mill went into full action.

Sir had a blazing row with Miss in the hall!

Sir shags socks! Sir has really low-hanging bollocks!

Two weeks later, I had handed in my notice and I went in search for another school in time for the next academic year .

‘It’s all good. New start.’

‘And how are we celebrating?’ he asks.

‘Come round? We can get a takeaway or something?’ I suggest.

‘Can do. We need to talk stag do too. I’ve got your costume,’ he tells me, far too excitedly.

I stand there looking at ice-cream van menus trying to summon up some excitement about this impending stag event.

The fact is I’ve bought a plane ticket and I’ve even bought travel bottles of shower gel, but the thought still fills me with a tiny bit of dread.

It’s a very laddish stag taking place on Mallorca with eight of his closest friends.

I fear it will just be an orgy of all-day drinking and pranks and, unfortunately, I now know that costumes will be involved.

‘Are we really doing costumes?’

‘It will be fun.’

‘Is mine decent?’

‘It’s not the mankini.’

Well, that’s a plus. I think. Though this means someone will be wearing a mankini. I hope it’s not his plumber friend with the hairy back. ‘Come over at about seven when everyone else will be at home? Bring something…cold…’

‘Will do. Income tax, cash ISAs…’ he says in an elevated tone.

I smile as he hangs up and I return to my place in the queue.

‘I want that massive one with the bubblegum sauce and the sweets,’ a boy behind me says. ‘How much is that one?’

I turn to the side to see him and two other little boys count out their coins anxiously, doing quick maths in their heads.

‘We’re ￡1.50p short,’ one of them complains.

With their matching football shirts, I’m going to hazard a guess that these three are thick as thieves and potentially brothers.

Oh, to be little like that again, when this van was the greatest thing in the world to have ever existed.

I notice the eldest brother is in charge of the money, noting down choices and ensuring no one strays from the pavement.

I relate to him instantly and smile, empathising with all that responsibility.