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THE FIRST SUMMER – 2011

She was chopping carrots in the kitchen of her student lodgings when the doorbell went. ‘I’ll get it!’ she called, wiping her damp hands on a tea towel and walking to the front door. ‘Oh,’ she said, opening it to find Tom there.

He was looking down when she first answered and from her raised position inside the house, she was slightly above him Then he looked up and she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. A steeliness, perhaps.

‘I’ve come to give this back,’ he said, handing her a torn envelope. Her letter.

‘Tom, that’s nuts. I mean, throw it away or something if you want…’

Their eyes met. ‘No. I’m giving it back because I don’t accept it.’

Was he joking? ‘You don’t accept what?’

‘I don’t accept you breaking up with me.’

She let out a small laugh, then felt mean. ‘I’m not sure it works like that, Tom. Pretty sure both parties have to agree that they’re in a relationship.’

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘Obviously. I mean that I think your logic is flawed.’

‘Now you’re grading my writing? Who are you? A professor?’ The teasing was light, something that came naturally between them. She felt herself begin to relax. ‘Look, come in. Have a cup of tea, if you want?’

He nodded and walked past her into the kitchen, putting the kettle on as if suddenly she were the guest and he, the host. He leant against the counter and looked at the chopping-board, its white, scored, plastic surface stained orange.

‘So my logic is flawed?’ she prompted, getting a mug out.

‘Yes. You reckon it wouldn’t work – that we wouldn’t see each other. And I think we would. And if that’s the only reason you’re calling things off, don’t you think you should at least give me a shot?’

It was flattering, his fighting for her. But in some ways, she felt like his mum, having to explain to her son how life worked – that while he might think he would want to keep things going, that actually, both of their lives were going to change dramatically and they were going in different directions. That breaking off now would save a great deal of pain – hers probably – later on. ‘Tom, I just think it’s for the best,’ she said, putting teabags in the mugs and looking up at him. ‘Come on, you’ll meet someone else soon, I reckon.’

He gave a laugh, but it was humourless. ‘Oh, right, because I’m Tom Gardner, the boy who sleeps around and is never going to settle down.’

‘Well, yes. I thought you were quite proud of that.’

‘I was… but then I met you. It’s different with you, Soph. It doesn’t make sense, but it is.’

He was so earnest, not realising that the doesn’t make sense sent a flurry of questions through her. Why not? Her looks? Her background? Was she not good enough for him on paper? She kept the questions inside, turning instead to pour boiling water into the mugs, watching the tea begin to mix in the heat.

‘Thank you,’ she said at last, passing him his mug. ‘It’s nice that you feel that way.’

‘But…’ he prompted.

She indicated with a tilt of her head that they ought to make their way to the living room, sit on the rather saggy sofas. He took a seat opposite her, and for a minute she wanted to laugh – it was as if she were in a formal meeting rather than sitting with a friend who wanted to be more.

‘I’m not convincing you, am I?’ he said, setting his tea down on the tiled surface of their second-hand coffee table.

She shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, if I’m honest. I mean, I like you, Tom. Really like you. But…’

‘But you want to be sensible ,’ he said, emphasising the last word as if it was an unfortunate flaw rather than… well, sensible.

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

Maybe he just didn’t like to lose, she thought. She wondered again if she was the first person to break up with Tom Gardner. She didn’t know everything about his background, but everything about him oozed privilege. He was good-looking, almost criminally so, with his deep blue eyes, dark hair and the kind of lashes that she could only dream of having. He’d never wanted for much as a child, never had to economise. Now he was at Cambridge where he’d been spectacularly lazy with his work, yet he’d still managed to land the kind of internship many of her contemporaries dreamt of.

Was she the first hurdle he’d fallen at?

‘Everything,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Come on, Soph. We’re twenty-one! If you can’t take a few risks now, when can you?’

‘So you admit it’s a risk?’ she teased, hoping to make his earnest face break into a smile. But he caught her eye and held it.

‘Everything is,’ he said. ‘And even sometimes the sensible option can be a risk. Depends how you look at it.’

‘Oh, Tom,’ she said. ‘Look, it’s so sweet that you feel that way. But I really think…’

‘That I’ll be off with a new woman the minute my feet touch the ground in London?’

‘Well, yeah,’ she admitted with a shrug. ‘I don’t want to go through that. And nor do you.’

He nodded and she felt a sudden pang of rejection.

‘It’s for the best,’ she said again, not sure why she was prompting him to speak, only knowing that she might give in if he tried just a little bit more. Something about his presence, his proximity. Those eyes.

‘OK, how about this,’ he said, more decisive now, his voice more like his old self. He drew an envelope out of his pocket. ‘You go and sow your wild oats or whatever you’re hoping to do at teacher-training college…’

‘Get my PGCE?’ she suggested. ‘Learn stuff?’

‘Yeah, all of that,’ he said. ‘And I’ll do my internship. But we’ll stay friends, right? You did say you wanted to be friends?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ she said, eyeing the envelope, wondering what it could possibly bring to the equation.

‘And the only reason that you want to break up is that you don’t believe I’m serious. Don’t believe I know myself, right?’

‘It sounds horrible when you say it like that. I just think we’ve both got so much ahead and…’

‘Well, look…’ He drew what looked like a ticket out of the envelope. ‘I bought these. Two tickets to Paris. You know, after our last trip I thought it could be kind of a tradition.’

‘Oh,’ she said, looking at it. ‘For next year.’

He nodded.

‘I’m so sorry. Can you get a refund?’

He laughed. ‘I’m not worried about the money. I only booked them yesterday. But I thought – doesn’t this show you how serious I am? I’m planning something for in twelve months’ time. Something for us.’

She nodded. But she’d never thought he’d been lying to her about how he felt, what he wanted. Just to himself. He was naive, not a liar.

‘So,’ he said, holding one ticket out to her and waving it slightly to encourage her to reach for it. ‘Take it. No strings. You loved Paris, right? All that art…’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘All the sex,’ he added, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed. ‘I suppose it had its moments.’

‘Well then,’ he said, as if this solved everything.

‘Well then, what?’ Was he buying her with a ticket to Paris? Because although that obviously cost a bit, she was pretty sure she was worth more.

‘Keep the ticket. Do your training. Then, in a year, come to Paris. I’ll be there too. I mean, friends can go away together, can’t they?’

‘Right.’

He shuffled forward slightly, reached for her hand. She put down her tea and let him take it. His fingers were smooth and warm against her perpetually cold skin.

‘And if I still feel the way I feel, and you feel – well, the way I think you might feel… Then we’ll give it another go,’ he said. ‘Call it a test, if you want.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘Even idiots like me have got to be serious sometimes.’

She held his gaze. Then, ‘OK.’

‘OK?’

She nodded. He leant forward and pressed his mouth to hers, his lips soft and warm. She put her hands up around his neck and allowed him to lift her to her feet.

‘Seal the deal?’ he said, a little breathless already.

She nodded. ‘Handshake?’ she joked.

‘Oh, I think we can do a little better than that.’