Page 25

Violet

‘Hey, watch where you’re bloody going, will you?’ yelled Stella, turning to the guy who’d almost knocked her over as he ran to the bar, but he’d already been swept up in a sea of Boat Race supporters all clamouring to get there before the men’s race. ‘I’m kind of wishing we went for lunch with your parents. At least we would have got drinks in first.’

I shook my head. ‘No way. We’d have to listen to my mum prattle on about Hugo, not to mention Charlie’s parents would be there, and I don’t know what they know. I’d be too nervous to eat anyway.’

‘Yeah, but then we wouldn’t HAVE TO DEAL WITH PEOPLE NOT LOOKING WHERE THEY’RE GOING.’ This time her anger was aimed directly at the guy who’d hurried past holding four pints, and very narrowly missed spilling one over her.

At least this time she got a mumbled ‘sorry’ before he ran off to his friends.

Slipping my hand into hers, I tugged her away from the river path we were walking down on our way towards the Ship, the pub directly on the Boat Race finish line. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea in the world to come here. The sun was shining again so ten thousand other people had come up with exactly the same plan.

But the Ship was the place to be if you wanted the best views.

‘Come on, we have forty minutes before the race starts, which means we have just less than an hour to get our spot on the balcony. We can definitely wrangle a space before then.’

‘I hope so.’

‘We will,’ I promised as we walked past an enormous guy standing by the door of the pub, who looked like he was supposed to be helping with crowd control. Except, based on the amount of people inside when we entered, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

Stella turned to me, which was about all she could do seeing as we’d hit a thick wall of dark and light blues. Moving forward, backward or to either side would pose more of a problem. We were surrounded by Oxford and Cambridge supporters; TV screens bolted to the walls were all tuned into BBC Sport, and the commentators down on the start line by Putney Bridge.

‘Sure you don’t want to go and find your parents?’

I shook my head again, though I was certainly more tempted than I had been ten minutes ago.

‘It’ll pass quickly. It’s only busy because the women’s race just finished, it’ll quiet down once the reserves start.’

At least Stella laughed at my attempt to be positive, while making a point to peer up at the back of the guy in front of her. Her only view. ‘Violet, sometimes you’re truly delulu.’

‘I know,’ I grinned, ‘but you love me for it, and I’m trying to put the positive vibes out for today. We’ve got a lot riding on it.’

By a lot, I obviously meant Charlie winning. Then seeing him, kissing him and getting back together. In that order.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ She rolled her eyes, ‘Wine? I need wine.’

I jerked forward from the force of someone passing behind me, ‘Yes. Wine. Here’s my card,’ I thrust it at her, ‘order a bottle, then we don’t have to go back for more. I’ll come and find you. I’m desperate for the loo,’ I added, hopping up and down to really get the point across before she got annoyed at me.

By the time I’d pushed through the crowds, found the end of the queue and waited for ten minutes while it moved, I was almost bursting. On the plus side, I peed in record time, and there was space at the sinks when I came out. My reflection stared back at me.

Miraculously, following a couple of days cold turkey, along with all the vegetables I’d swapped out and consumed in place of chocolate, my spots had completely vanished. More miraculously, my mum hadn’t even had the chance to hunt me down and pop them before they did.

Broccoli and spinach – 1; Jane Brooks – 0.

I smoothed away all my windswept strands of hair. While the sun might have made an appearance, so had the wind, and walking along the riverbank had given me the ‘freshly dragged through a hedge’ vibe. It wasn’t quite the look I was hoping for the first time I’d be seeing Charlie in two weeks. I gathered it all up and fixed a ponytail, because if I played my cards right, Charlie would be tugging on the end to kiss me in a matter of hours.

One last look in the mirror, straightening the neck of the OUBC hoodie Charlie had left for me, a swipe of pink balm over my lips and I headed to find Stella.

Unsurprisingly she’d barely moved through the crowds. ‘Still busy, Vi.’

‘I see that,’ I replied. Easing my phone from my pocket, I opened up the messages where my last one was still unread.

I’d sent it this morning, wishing Charlie good luck and that I’d see him later.

It was the first message I’d sent him since I’d been home. First text message.

In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t replied to the MP3 email by email, because I had no way of knowing if it had been delivered, and also no way of knowing if he’d read it. But I’d sent it, thanked him for the beautiful poem, cupcakes and play lines, and told him I’d be waiting for him, as requested. I’d broken my own rule of no contact.

However, even with the poem, the cupcakes and the lines, the lack of response to either was enough to stop the anxiety from the past two weeks disappearing completely.

My spiral was halted mid-turn by a voice calling my name. I turned to find Gordon shoving his way through the throng as hard as he could, if his red face was anything to go by. Even his glasses had steamed up.

‘Violet, hello.’

‘Hey Gordon, how are you? What’re you doing here?’ I asked, mostly because I wasn’t even sure he was old enough to drink. Not that the guys on the door seemed to give a shit who they let in.

‘I’m with my sister, but I can’t find her anywhere. She was coming to the bar but that was half an hour ago.’

I swept my arms around the crowded space just as Stella moved into a spot by the bar, ‘She’s probably stuck in this somewhere.’

Gordon jerked forward as someone pushed behind him, and he let out a loud huff, ‘Are you watching the race?’

‘Yeah, we’re going down to the boathouse once we’ve got drinks.’

‘We?’

‘Yeah, Stella’s in front of this guy.’ I thumbed to the person in front of me. ‘You want a drink?’

‘Oh, um … yes please.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of fifty-pound notes, from which he peeled off the top one. ‘Could you get me a lemonade, and my sister a glass of wine?’

I pushed his hand away, trying to stop my eyes from bugging too much. ‘Jesus, Gordy, put that back in your pocket. Why have you got so much money on you?’

‘Just in case.’

‘In case of what? … Actually, I don’t want to know.’ I peered around the guy in front, ‘Stel, can you add a lemonade and another glass of wine to the order?’

‘Yeah,’ she called back. ‘Rosé?’

‘Rosé.’ I nodded, as a space opened up for Gordon and me to move in next to her.

A huge cheer ripped through the pub just as the bottle was placed on the bar, followed by Gordon’s lemonade. ‘Come on, that must be the reserve crew finished. Let’s go find out who won, and get our space on the terrace. You coming, Gordon? We can text your sister and let her know where you are.’

‘Oh okay, sure. Thank you. Then lead the way.’

Charlie

I was not someone who listened to drum and bass, yet that’s exactly what I was doing.

It all started two days ago when I’d needed to move Oz’s car, and reversed it into a different parking spot right before I remembered I’d dropped my bag in the exact place the back wheel happened to be resting.

The last two dozen cupcakes had been eviscerated, along with my phone.

As every waking minute of the days since had been taken up with training and mandatory Boat Race commitments, I hadn’t had a chance to get another one. Therefore, I was currently borrowing Bitters’ phone to try and zone into the task at hand, and focus on anything but the adrenaline coursing through my body.

Drum and bass had been his only music option.

I’d been racing since before I was a teenager, but in all that time I couldn’t remember a single occasion when I’d been this nervous before. Even with my elbows pressing hard on my knees, my feet were still jittering away. I glanced over at Oz, sitting on the bench opposite me. I wasn’t sure if it made me feel better that he seemed to be going through the exact same thing, but it didn’t make me feel worse.

The rest of the boys were down at the other end of the changing rooms; Brooks was eating his third protein bar in ten minutes, Bitters and Joshi were playing thumb wars, Marshy was talking to Coach, Fellows was on his phone, Drake was playing with a yo-yo and I think Frank was in the loo throwing up for the second time. At least that’s the direction he’d run a few minutes ago.

I’d probably be throwing up too if I wasn’t concentrating so hard on not thinking about Violet or wondering whether she’d be waiting for me. Because somewhere in the 250,000-strong crowds lining the banks of the River Thames, Violet Brooks was out there. I’d had confirmation.

Her brother might like to think he was on par with the world’s most neutral country, but his defence left a lot to be desired. It had only taken a plate of chocolate brownies to crack him enough that I found out Violet would be in attendance today.

But that’s all he knew.

To be honest, I think I was faring pretty damn well considering how my nerves were bouncing quicker than Drake’s yo-yo. One minute I could picture her waiting by the dry dock for me, the next I had visions of sprinting all over London until I found her, dropping to my knees as I begged for a do-over.

The only saving grace of destroying my phone was that I couldn’t obsessively check it to see if she’d messaged, and torment myself if she hadn’t. The only thing I had done was put in a request to Brooks that he let Violet know, and given him a meal of his choosing in return.

Across from me Oz was twisting his hands together. I pulled off the headphones and rested them around my neck.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, shifting over to sit next to him.

He nodded, slowly. ‘Yeah. Are you?’

‘I think so.’

‘We never did get those badges made, did we?’

I shook my head, my eyes flicking up to the giant clock on the wall, ‘We still have some time.’

At least that raised a smile. ‘Only the next hour to get through before we can start fixing all the shit that’s gone wrong lately.’

‘Yeah. I hope so, mate. I really do,’ I said, scratching through my stubble. I really needed to have a shave, I planned to be kissing Violet all night long and I didn’t want to damage her skin. ‘How are you feeling about racing against Kate?’

‘I dunno. I keep thinking about it, and I just don’t know.’ He dropped his head with a shake, and a heavy sigh that I felt in my chest. ‘Part of me hopes she sprints off the start because then I don’t have to see her while I’m racing. But the other part has never been more desperate to win a race than this one. But winning means I’m beating her.’

His eyes flicked to the side, his lips curved in a wry smile that I understood well. He was screwed either way. I felt his anguish, and I most definitely didn’t envy him. It would be like me on stage in a competing theatre on Violet’s opening night.

Not that it would ever happen.

I nudged into his shoulder, ‘I don’t know Kate very well, but she doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d be very happy if you didn’t try your absolute hardest to beat her.’ I huffed out a quiet chuckle. I knew Violet would likely skin me alive if I let her win by default because she was my girlfriend, and Kate seemed to be cut from the same cloth.

‘No. She definitely isn’t,’ he chuckled.

‘Then it doesn’t matter how you feel. You need to try your hardest to win. Set the stroke you made us all keep up with for weeks, no one will beat us then. We might all die, but we’ll die winners.’

I didn’t add that we had to win. I had to win this race for Violet. I needed to win this race for Violet. If we won, everything would be okay.

All heads turned to us as Oz let out a roar of laughter, though as nothing interesting seemed to be happening everyone quickly turned back to what they were doing.

‘Yeah, sorry about that.’

‘It’s okay. I get it now.’

‘And I get why you swore off love for so long,’ he shot back.

I huffed out a dry chuckle. ‘Didn’t really work though, did it?’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head, his eyes glancing up to mine, and his tone quietened, ‘I hope Violet’s waiting.’

I smiled, ‘Me too. And if she’s not then I’m going to find her. I’m not losing her.’

‘Yeah. I know how you feel.’ He knocked his knee against mine.

‘Don’t worry, like Shakespeare said, all’s well that ends well.’

He side-eyed me, ‘Mate, I don’t think that means what you think it means.’

‘It means it’ll all be fine in the end.’

He shook his head, ‘No, it doesn’t –’

‘What? Yes it does.’ I held my hand up before he could say otherwise, and this entire conversation could veer further away from the point I was trying to make than it already had, and I was not in the mood for an English lesson. ‘Whatever, if Shakespeare’s characters can have a happy ending, then so can we.’

‘Romeo and Juliet died.’

I didn’t get the chance to argue back as an ear-bleedingly loud whistle pierced the air, and once the ringing had stopped in our ears we all turned to Coach standing in the doorway. ‘Okay boys. It’s time. Get out there and win this race.’

‘Seriously?’ muttered Oz, as Coach walked away, ‘That’s it? No big “If you don’t feel like you’re going to die you’re not trying hard enough” motivational speech?’

Removing the headphones from my neck, I tossed them in my bag, pulled on my wellies and stood up. Taking one last look around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

Baseball cap – check.

Sunglasses – check.

Heart pounding like it was about to break a rib – double check.

I threw an arm around Oz, ‘Come on, mate, let’s get this over with and go get our girls back.’

Violet

‘I can’t watch. I can’t watch this,’ I screeched, while making absolutely no attempt to turn away from the giant screen directly below us on the riverside.

It was like the BBC cameraman was deliberately trying to give me an aneurism from the way he was slowly panning over the Oxford boys as they walked out of the boathouse towards Blue Boat. Every time it stopped on Charlie – which IMO was a lot but also nowhere near enough – my heart gave a little excited pitter patter as it recognized its mate but left me wondering if I should seek immediate medical attention.

If only the helicopters overhead weren’t making it impossible to hear any of the commentary.

Stella peeled my fingers one by one from the vice-like grip I’d had on her arm. ‘Could you please try and contain the screeching at least until the race begins so that you’re then drowned out by everyone else?’

‘I agree,’ added Gordon, unnecessarily.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, peering out to the crowds lining the paths.

It was nothing but light and dark blue stretching left and right as far as the eye could see. Wall-to-wall Oxbridge supporters took up every available space on the banks, only occasionally broken up by the high-vis vests of the Metropolitan Police. A hundred metres away, the stone arches of Chiswick Bridge were holding up thousands of spectators all clamouring for a view of the finish line.

Flags, scarfs and banners flapped in the wind; the giant Boat Race signs attached to all the railings were trying their best to loosen themselves from their restraints. In the last hour the wind had picked up enough that white plumes crested the choppy waters of the Thames. The buoys were bobbing viciously against the river wall, as seagulls swooped down and missed whatever they’d been hunting, only to fly back around and try again.

This was not going to be an easy race.

Taking a much larger than intended gulp of wine, I managed to swallow it without choking and turned back to the big screen. The Oxford and Cambridge Blue Boats were being held in place by the support boats. Oz, Charlie and my brother were in at the front – stroke, seven and six respectively – and I didn’t know if it was because they’d rowed together for a decade, or lived together and their lives were intertwined but behind their sunglasses and baseball caps you almost couldn’t tell them apart. The three of them moved in sync, gripping their oars, checking their hold, their faces impassive.

‘Is that the one Oz broke up with?’ whispered Stella as the camera zoomed into the Cambridge cox with her hand up, a tiny girl with dark brown hair, hunkered down in the stern.

I nodded, ‘Yeah.’

‘Have you met her?’

‘No, they broke up when Charlie and I were still faking it.’

God, that felt like so long ago, when it had been so cold the only thing keeping me warm had been thoughts of seeing Charlie every day. Without him, I’d have probably found some excuse to skip lectures so I could stay in bed. It was almost impossible to remember what my life had been like before; when I’d loved him from afar, when I’d only known him as my brother’s friend. Not like now, when the thought of missing out on any more of his life produced such a thick lump in my throat I needed to finish my wine just to swallow it down.

‘Okay, Gordy, Violet,’ Stella grabbed me as both coxes put down their hands and the umpire’s flag was raised. ‘Get ready to scream your heads off.’

Even though the start of the Boat Race at Putney Bridge was four miles of river away, as the crow flies it was less than two from where we were standing, and when the flag dropped and the race got under way I swear I could hear the thunderous roar of the crowd.

‘We’ve started strong,’ cried Stella, her eyes glued to the screen below, like she was privy to insider information, even though she could see exactly what I could see – the flotilla of support boats, umpires, and the two blue boat shells currently neck and neck at the two-hundred-metre mark. The entire course was still ahead of us.

All around us on the terrace, the crowds had gotten over the initial excitement of the start and the volume of chatter had returned to its pre-race levels. But my eyes may as well have been superglued to the screen. Every so often the cameras would switch from the drones flying directly overhead to the ones attached to the end of each Blue Boat, just above where the cox was sitting, and we’d get a close up of Oz, or the Cambridge stroke.

‘Oz definitely looks way more chill than Cambridge, that guy’s face is bright red,’ Stella mumbled.

But I wasn’t watching Oz, because every time he appeared my eyes flickered behind him to catch whatever glimpse I could of Charlie. I didn’t blink. I didn’t want to miss a second, as his jaw popped with every mighty heave of his oar, and the crew powered forward.

But as Oxford sped through the choppy waters, so did Cambridge.

‘Shit.’

The boats had passed the mile marker and, reappearing after Hammersmith Bridge and taking the bend, it was clear Cambridge now had the advantage.

‘Don’t say it,’ I muttered to Stella.

She stayed silent. The guy behind me, however, didn’t.

‘Ooh, Oxford’s had it now. Eighty per cent of the crews who go through Hammersmith Bridge and come out first go on to win. Cambridge will be lifting the cup.’

Gordon got there before I could.

‘Shut up,’ he snapped, as we both spun around only to come face to face with a light-blue shirt. Typical. ‘That means nothing.’

‘Oh yeah,’ the guy grinned, pointing to the screen. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

‘They’re only half a length ahead.’ Stella leaned into me, ‘We’re lulling Cambridge into a false sense of security. Oz is going to step on it soon. Look at your brother, he’s not going to let Cambridge slip past.’

I wish I had Stella’s confidence, but the anxiety building in my stomach was becoming too much to ignore, and as the boats reached the Chiswick Eyot, Cambridge’s lead increased.

‘Shit shit shit shit shit shit. This isn’t good.’

Opening my hand, I found tiny crescent moons in a neat line across my palm where my fists had been clasped so tight, my fingernails had almost broken the skin.

I crossed my fingers instead.

‘Maybe they’ll do what they did with Bath a few weeks ago,’ Gordon offered up kindly, sensing my despair.

I could feel a restlessness buzzing through the air. The chatter had quietened down again, only for loud cheers to rip through the crowds with each close-up of the boats on the screen. Flags waved, scarfs were being spun in the air, dark and light blue streamers blew about in the wind. Twelve minutes had gone by, there was just over a mile left, and it was now abundantly clear Charlie wouldn’t be standing on the winner’s podium at the end of the day.

The last two weeks apart suddenly seemed totally pointless. I wanted to see Charlie, I wanted to be there when he stepped out of the boat. I wanted to hug him and tell him it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Why had it not occurred to me to be down by the boathouse?

Because you never thought they’d lose, said a quiet voice. You thought you’d get there in time.

‘Oh my fucking god. Cambridge is a whole length in front, they’ll never catch up.’ Soon, the tears would be pushing up my throat and then there’d be no stopping them. ‘Stella, do you think this is my fault? Are we losing because of me?’

‘Of course we’re bloody not. Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, though her words would be more believable if her tone was less panicked.

‘Stella, they’re nearly at Barnes Bridge, it’s only four minutes from there to here, we’ll never make it,’ I sobbed. ‘We need to get over Chiswick Bridge to the boathouse. Why did I think watching it here was a good idea? I’m such an idiot. Stella?’ I screeched.

She turned, took one look at my face, and didn’t argue. Just grabbed my hand and pulled.

‘Let’s go. Gordon, you coming?’

Gordon checked his phone, but with no news from his sister, he popped it back into his pocket and took off after us at a laboured jog.

Charlie

Violet wasn’t there. She wasn’t waiting for me.

I was too slow to stop the plummet of my heart, I was too exhausted to push away the crippling disappointment of Violet not being the first thing I saw when I turned to the riverbanks.

The surrounding cheers were almost deafening as we drifted under Chiswick Bridge, nine of us utterly depleted and dejected. Nine broken hearts. Oz was holding onto Marshy as he sobbed on his shoulder, behind me Brooks was breathing so heavily he sounded like he was about to hyperventilate. Further down someone – probably Frank – was being sick.

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I had no words. Nothing.

I was utterly devoid of anything, and I honestly didn’t know whether it was from losing a race we’d spent eight months training for – day in day out, until our hands blistered and our muscles screamed for mercy – or because Violet was nowhere to be seen.

No, I knew.

The Cambridge crew were all messing about in the water, and I barely noticed as our boat was pulled to the dock by the Oxford support staff. Their faces weren’t etched in quite as much sorrow and exhaustion as ours were, but it was close.

‘Hard fought race, boys. I’m proud of you.’

‘Bad luck, guys.’

‘Tough loss. Chin up, there’s always next year.’

I nodded along, even though there wasn’t a next year for me. Not for Brooks or Oz either. We’d lost our final Boat Race.

Oz jumped out first, his focus trained on one thing and one thing only.

‘Go and get her. Don’t despair,’ he muttered to me, nodding to the hordes of spectators swarming by the boathouse as he took off to go and find Kate. At least she’d been at the finish line.

I took my time getting out. I had nothing to rush for except a hot shower and a plan of action.

‘Can’t fucking believe we lost,’ sniffed Brooks next to me, drawing a hand under his nose.

‘Yeah. Me neither.’

‘I’m going to get blind drunk tonight. You in?’ He looked at me hopefully, with big pleading eyes, before something caught his attention. ‘Ugh, never mind. Forgot for a second.’

I spun around to where his frown was trained. A flash of violet pushing through the crowds was enough to send my heart rate back to racing speed, and thudding so loudly that even the helicopters overhead couldn’t drown out the sound.

Not for one second did she pause in her sprint as her big azure eyes scanned through the Oxford crew and staff, along with another hundred family and friends standing around, until they finally landed on me. I squinted into the crowd … was that Gordon next to her? Before I could think any more of it, Violet picked up her pace until she ground to a halt in front of me.

‘Hang on,’ she wheezed, holding up a finger before bending over double to catch her breath, sucking in as much air as Brooks had as we crossed the finish.

‘Violet …’

‘Hang. On.’

I bent down and tried again. ‘Violet … if you need to get air in your lungs, stand up and put your arms behind your head.’

She stood up and slowly did as I’d suggested. ‘Like this?’

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. ‘Yeah. Like that.’

Blue eyes locked into mine, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath until it steadied enough that she unlinked her fingers and lowered her arms.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, her cheeks puffing out as a slow smile crept over her face. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for as we stood in silence, the pair of us staring at each other as though we were checking to see if anything had changed. I didn’t know if she wanted to speak or if I was supposed to say something first, because the only thing going through my head was that I’d never seen her look more beautiful. A bead of sweat ran down her temple, a thick strand of hair had come loose from the tie and curled around her neck, the pink of her cheeks … the pout of her lips … all of it. Beautiful.

‘Violet –’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here,’ she blurted before I could get another word in. ‘I’m so sorry. You asked me to be waiting for you and I meant to be, I was over there.’ She jabbed her finger over my shoulder in the direction of the Ship, ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you lost. I’m sorry if it was because of me, or anything I’d done. Thank you for the cupcakes and the poem and the recording, it was all so kind of you. I’m sorry.’

There was silence again, and I think she was done. But you never knew with Violet.

‘Are you done?’

She nodded.

‘First, why would you think we lost because of you?’ I held my hand up before she could interrupt. ‘Wait, let me get to the end. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell Brooks sooner, I’m sorry about Evie, I’m sorry for the whole mess I created.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but I covered it with my hand. ‘Violet Brooks, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and the past two weeks without you have been awful. I never want to be without you again. I should have said this a long time ago, but will you be my real girlfriend for real. One that everyone knows about?’

A smile broke across her face so quickly that even my cheeks ached from it. ‘Charlie Masterson, I thought you’d never ask.’

Stepping in, I tugged on her ponytail, tipping her head until her lips were directly below mine.

‘Are you ready for our first kiss?’

The tiny crease appeared on her nose, as it always did when she was confused, ‘But we already kissed –’

‘Not as my girlfriend, not as someone I officially like –’

She cocked her head, ‘You didn’t like me before? Huh.’

‘Shut up,’ I laughed, as a future of never getting a word in edgeways flashed before my eyes. A future of fun, so much fun and love. And non-stop talking. A future of Violet. ‘You know what I mean. Just shut up and let me kiss you.’

‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘because I’m going to kiss you.’

Unfortunately, neither of us got the chance for a kiss, because that was the exact moment all the parents decided to make an appearance. Mine, Violet’s, and Oz’s mum. As well as Gordon, who still seemed to be catching his breath.

But then I got a better idea. A much better idea.

Lacing our fingers together, I tugged Violet up to where everyone was standing.

‘Oh, darling,’ my mum cried, throwing her arms around me, ‘I’m so sorry about the race. You all fought brilliantly.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I replied, easing myself from her grip. ‘Hang on. I just need to do something.’

‘Charlie, what’s going on?’ Violet hissed, as I tapped her dad on the shoulder.

Timothy Brooks was exactly how Brooks would look in thirty years. Tall, broad, and with the type of smile that said he was up to no good. Except right now, as he glanced down to where I was holding Violet’s hand, he looked confused.

My eyes flicked between him and Jane, who was talking to Oz’s mum and only stopped when Tim nudged her hard in the ribs. Harder than he needed given the way she nearly fell into Daphne.

I cleared my throat. ‘Jane. Tim. I need to tell you something. I love your daughter.’

Violet mumbled something unintelligible next to me.

To be fair to them, after a few seconds of unblinking staring, they recovered surprisingly quickly.

‘And does she love you back?’ asked Tim, looking at Violet.

Thankfully she nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Very much.’

Jane’s head cocked, I could almost hear the whirring going on in her brain. Though it wasn’t quite figuring out what I thought it was figuring out.

‘Oh!’ she snapped her fingers, eventually, ‘That’s why you ate Buddy’s Easter Egg.’

‘Mum, Jesus!’

‘Wait? Wh …’ I turned to Violet, ‘Um, what? You ate dog chocolates?’

Gripping my shoulders she moved me away from our parents, though they’d already lost interest and were back talking among themselves. That was much easier than I’d expected.

‘It’s a long story. And you already said you loved me, you can’t take it back. No matter what.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not taking it back. Not now, not ever. But did you really eat dog chocolate?’

‘I’m not answering that.’ She grinned, so wide I couldn’t stop myself from grinning too.

My lips dropped to hers, wishing I didn’t have to keep it quite so chaste, but there was no chance of getting carried away in front of three sets of parents, plus the several hundred people standing around by the boat club. Gordon. Or Brooks for that matter.

‘Gross,’ he grumbled, as he appeared next to us. ‘I did not think this through. We’re definitely going to have to come up with some kind of agreement that you don’t do this,’ he swirled a finger in our faces, ‘in my presence.’

Violet was on the verge of telling him exactly what she thought of his idea, but miraculously I got there first.

‘A dozen cupcakes of your choice baked every week, and I can kiss Violet whenever I want …’

His eyes narrowed, while he pondered on the offer, ‘… and a dozen double chocolate-chip cookies.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Then we have ourselves a deal.’ He slapped me on the back. ‘Welcome to the family.’