The boys made a new friend each at school and stopped looking quite so tired. Josie was loving her course, and had already had a raucous night out with a bunch of the other students. And she and Pete . . . Well. Things had moved from civil to positively matey, actually. He’d come round one evening, ostensibly so that they could sort out their joint finances, but somehow or other they’d managed to drink a whole bottle of wine between them, and had ended up laughing fit to bust on the sofa about old times. For a moment – a single moment – she caught him looking at her and wondered, with a twisting thrill inside, whether he was on the verge of saying something serious. Something important. She’d made an excuse to go to the kitchen – ‘Fancy some olives?’ she’d blurted out – and jumped to her feet so quickly that she’d kicked over her wine glass. So that had been that. Moment over. She was terrified of him making a move again. Terrified, but at the same time longing for it.
