I’d been revising hard for weeks for my A levels, but the fact that I got such good results can be partly attributed to the sunshine in the May before my exams. In contrast to many a disappointing British summer, this was the hottest in years. Every day brought another scorcher, the kind when sweat clings to the back of your knees and only the shade will do. There was a public park within walking distance of the house Jeff and I grew up in, so as soon as sixth-formers were released on study leave, I took to strolling up there with my books and a blanket to revise.
The rhododendrons were in full bloom and the sky a perfect cornflower blue, patterned with loops of vapour and the odd floss of cloud. I’d find a spot under a tree and set myself up with my Walkman and mix-tapes, carefully curated collections of music that still stir up intense nostalgia in me. I only need to hear the first four beats of ‘Summertime’ by DJ Jazzy Jeff to recall the main points of Queen Elizabeth I’s foreign policy and reasons for the defeat of the Spanish Armada. Every so often, I’d drift off and have a little power nap, which is exactly what happened a few weeks before my first exam. I was lying on my front, head resting on my forearms when I got that weird sixth sense that you sometimes have when you know you’re not alone. I opened an eye to discover someone standing over me.
‘Hi.’
I scrambled to my knees and shielded my gaze against the sun.
‘I think this might be yours.’
Sam was holding an essay in his hand that appeared to be mine. A light breeze had drifted in and blown it halfway across the field, before he’d apparently rescued it.
‘Oh God!’
With a bolt of panic, I realised it wasn’t the only paper fluttering across my picnic blanket, threatening to take flight. I frantically began to gather up the rest, as he dropped down to help.
‘You’re fine, I think that’s the only one that went too far,’ he said.
When I’d finally secured a term’s worth of Tudor history,
I exhaled and sat back.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s Julie, isn’t it?’
‘Jules,’ I corrected him. By now I was too sophisticated for the name my parents had given me. I’d never understood why they couldn’t have just called me Julia, which had a far more elegant ring to it.
‘We went to school together, didn’t we?’
I’m not sure how he recognised me. My hair was straight again now and I had blonde highlights, proper ones done by a hairdresser and not just the orange tinge I used to get from my Sun-In habit.
‘Is it . . . Sam?’
‘Yes!’ he said, clearly pleased I knew who he was.
He’d shot up a foot and a half since I’d last seen him but that wasn’t the most astonishing thing about the way he looked. He was aman, far more so than anyone in our sixth form, at least. He’d grown tall, with broad shoulders and clear evidence of facial hair, judging by the little shaving nick on the side of his square chin. He still had thick, light-brown curls though and a full-bodied smile that made his eyes sparkle.
I’d never met anyone who’d gone to a boarding school before. Part of me was expecting him to be wearing a cap and gown and have developed the kind of accent found in Jane Austen adaptations. Hewaswell-spoken, but his voice was deep and neutral, rather than stiff and superior, and he dressed like your average nineties indie kid, in a vintage T-shirt and retro trainers.
‘How’s the studying going?’ he asked, which threw me momentarily. I hadn’t anticipated small talk.
‘Um . . . fine,’ I managed. ‘I’ll be glad when exams are over though. How about you?’
‘Yeah, not bad. I mean . . . there’s a lot to cover but hopefully I’ll be okay,’ he said, sounding far more relaxed about them than I was.
Still, I detected the faintest hint of awkwardness, which I found reassuring. Even at that age there were still times when I had to battle to overcome the shyness that had plagued my early teens. Most of the time, the art of conversation still felt like one long, exhausting exercise in trying not to make an idiot of myself.
‘Right then. I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, when the conversation had run out of steam. But he didn’t move. And for a split second all I could focus on was the way the light reflected in his eyes and brought out a myriad of green shades in his irises.
‘Bye,’ I smiled, with a little wave.
I watched as he crossed the field, contemplating the broad stretch of his back and the way the sunlight caught his hair. Then I rose to my feet and did something quite unprecedented.
‘Sam!’
He turned around.
‘You could come and work over here if you’d like?’
