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By Root 1384 0

to university in September. He was very tall and skinny, in a cool way, not a geeky one. He wore drainpipe jeans and kept his fringe swept forward across his eyes. Dad would almost certainly call him girly and say he should get it cut. He listened to bands she hadn’t ever heard of before. She’d started downloading them onto her iPod. Nathan had given her playlists. He said he was her Svengali, and she didn’t really know what he meant. He read loads. If Dad could see behind the haircut, he’d be impressed with how clever he was. Hannah didn’t realize, or admit to herself, that she hadn’t given her dad the chance, either to object to the hair or respond to the intellect. And, of course, there was the car. It might be a Ford Focus, and it might belong to his mother, but the point was it no longer needed to be driven by said mother. He could drive it himself, which was, of course, impossibly glamorous. The ten long months before Hannah would be able to get her provisional license seemed interminable. He was trendy and smart and obviously romantic, and Hannah thought that everything about him was breathtaking.

Dad wouldn’t have let her go to his house if he’d known it was just the two of them, hence the lie. But Hannah wasn’t worried. She felt confident that Nathan wasn’t the kind of boy (she corrected herself—man) to expect her to…do things, just because they were alone. It would just be so nice for it to be the two of them, to have time to talk and…oh, it was just thrilling all around, and the real truth was that, alone with him or not, she just didn’t want to talk to her dad about it yet. It would be cringy. This was private and grown-up and…private. And, actually, she might want to do some things.

Nathan had the music on very loud in the car. It wasn’t one of his mum’s CDs. She climbed in beside him and beamed at him.

“Hiya.”

“Hiya.”

He leaned over. She had kissed him, that first night, at Ruby’s. A bit, right at the end. But this was different—it was broad daylight, and there was no atmosphere, and she felt self-conscious. She returned the kiss chastely. He grinned at her, switched on the ignition, and drove off.

Lisa

March 5 was Andy’s forty-first birthday. Last year, when he’d turned forty, he’d rented a house, out in Norfolk. They’d gone there with twelve of his best friends, for the weekend. The weather had been unexpectedly beautiful—crisp and blue-skied and still. There had been long walks, and roaring fires, and boozy, funny evenings. Lisa had given him a first edition of one of his favorite novels—a Thomas Pynchon. She and his friends had put on a show, hurriedly rehearsed in the weeks before Norfolk. They’d called it “40 Things We Love About Andy.” Someone had made an iPod mix of all the hits from the year he was born.

This year, no celebration had been planned. Cee Cee was with Karen—she had been promised birthday dinner at Pizza Express at the weekend, which compensated her for her absence on the actual day. Cee Cee thought that any birthday that came without cake, and someone who could make balloon animals, was a total washout.

Lisa had asked Andy if he wanted her to book a restaurant, meet some friends. He’d replied that he’d rather eat at home, just with her, have a nice bottle of wine and a quiet night. She’d cooked a lamb casserole and chosen a good Barolo. She’d handed over her presents a little apologetically—a new tie, some socks, a pair of silver cuff links. Dad presents, she called them. She hadn’t found inspiration this year. He said they were great. They reminisced a little about Norfolk.

“Actually, I’ve got something for you,” he said, getting up from the table and fumbling in his bag.

“But it isn’t my birthday.”

“I know that. Still, I have.”

He put a small box on the table, just as she had been afraid he might the moment he said he had something for her. She was scared of little velvet boxes.

“It isn’t a ring,” he spoke quickly, watching her face intently. “I know you’ll have a view about how a ring should look. I wouldn’t risk getting it wrong. Not when you’re going to wear it…all