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Steven hesitated momentarily while an entire conversation – an entire future – played out in his head; a future where Em viewed him as a curiosity instead of a boyfriend.

‘He was run over.’ He hated lying to her.

‘How awful,’ she said.

‘It was before I was born.’ He shrugged.

She turned away from the shelves and smiled at him and he was glad he’d lied instead of spoiling things.

He watched her examine his room like an exotic animal exploring a new cage. He resisted the temptation to justify his mess or to get up and hide stuff, and the longer the inspection went on, the more he realized that she wasn’t judging him, just interested. Now and then she’d say something: ‘I have one those. Did yours work? Nor mine; I don’t know anyone whose did.’ Or: ‘Oh look, your Liverpool shirt has your name on the back! Cool! Oh, it’s torn here, what a shame.’ And: ‘I can’t believe you collect these things. You geek.’

Steven relaxed into being teased and soon he was enjoying her circuit as much as she obviously was.

As she ran out of room, she slowly approached the bed, and Steven stopped laughing and became acutely aware of his own body – and hers. Finally, she sat down a couple of feet away from him, then shifted along until their hips were touching.

They kissed again, as if not a second had passed between their last kiss and this one, two days later. As if Jonas Holly was a bad dream and Nan’s birthday had yet to dawn.

This kiss was different in a whole ’nother way. They weren’t in Ronnie’s garage or outside a pair of iron gates; they were in his bedroom and on his bed. That thought alone was exciting enough for him to kiss Em harder and to put his hand on her bare thigh.

Then it all got muddled in Steven’s head. He touched Em; she touched him; she opened her mouth and there was a roaring in his ears; he slid his hand under the bottom of her little vest and touched the hot, smooth skin of her waist, and felt a bit faint.

She broke the kiss.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ she said seriously.

Em slid her feet from her pretty shell-covered shoes and carefully lifted her legs on to Steven’s bed. She took his hand.

‘Can we lie down?’

He kicked off his trainers and the pair of them lay on their backs on the narrow bed, shoulders, arms, hands, hips touching, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe this was the same bedroom where he’d slept for the past five years. He was lying on his Liverpool cover with a girl he’d kissed. He had wonderful things to say to her, but he could barely breathe, let alone talk, his throat was so tight with desire and nerves. The kiss had been easy, but the thought of getting actual sex wrong made him feel dizzy with horror. He wanted it so badly he was shaking, but he’d rather never have it at all than get it all wrong and have to live with that shame. A shame that Em would know all about. A shame she might share with her friends. With his friends. He was so scared his jaw ached with clenching—

‘I’m scared,’ she said in a very small voice. ‘I’ve never done this.’

Steven wanted to cry, he loved her so much.

He turned towards her.

‘I want to,’ she said. ‘I love you. But I’m scared.’

Steven put an arm around her and she turned to face him, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his lips.

‘We don’t have to do anything,’ he told her. ‘I love you too.’

* * *

Davey was in the woods with Shane.

He’d left the PlayStation revving and crashing all by itself. They were going to catch the kidnapper and there was nothing Steven could do to stop them. Serve him right for making Davey’s feather bird seem so crap that he’d needed the charity of his name on a stupid umbrella.

They hardly spoke; the plan was so simple.

The only discussion was who should be the bait. Right from the start, Shane had suspected it might be him. Even so, when they actually reached the car, he made a token protest as Davey started to unravel the reel of garden twine they’d stolen from Mr Randall’s shed.

‘Don’t be such a chicken,’ said Davey sharply. ‘We’re going to be tied together. No one can take you without me knowing.’

‘I’m not a chicken,’ said Shane crossly. ‘I’m just saying we should take turns, that’s all. Why should I always be the bait?’

‘Because you’re better at sitting still than I am.’

‘But you’re going to be sitting still in the woods.’

‘Yeah, and you get the cushion, so what are you moaning about?’

‘It’s my cushion anyway. I should get it.’

‘It’s not yours, it’s your mum’s.’

‘That still makes it more mine than yours.’

‘Whatever. Stop making excuses and being a chicken.’

While they’d bickered, Davey had tied one end of the twine around Shane’s wrist. ‘Get in the car then.’

‘I’m only doing this if we swap places every hour.’

‘All right.’

‘Promise?’

‘Shitting bloody hell, Shane! How old are you? You sound like a baby! A baby girl.’

‘Piss off.’

‘I’m going,’ said Davey, unfazed. ‘Remember, two jerks if you see anyone, three if you’re in danger, and then I’ll come running in and we’ll take the bastard down.’