I’ve been out surfing with Luca loads of times now and I want to hurry so I can go and meet him again. But Cat’s being really annoying. She wants to do it really, really neatly, just like her colouring in. “I don’t want you to go surfing, anyway,” she says. “I hate it when you go.” “I wish you’d come with me,” I say. “We could even get Chloe down there too. She’d love surfing.” It’s the same discussion every day and neither of us will budge. We polish all the furniture so the room smells waxy and clean. Then we puff up the cushions on the sofas and arrange the colourful silk ones from India in pairs. Then we start playing this mad game, pretending we’re on a TV advert. We keep smiling at the camera, saying, “Beeswax fresh, it’s gotta be the best!” We laugh so much I think we’re going to crack in half with giggling, and for a teeny-weeny moment we get so close I think we might even touch. I hold my breath, waiting to feel her hand on my bare arm. But, just as she’s about to touch me, she pulls away.
