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She needed reinforcements, but it took all of us to finally defeat him and throw him in.

Madame Gombert brought out a large jug of cîtron pressé in the late afternoon, and we sat around the pool, chatting.

“This pool is much bigger than ours,” Jack lamented. “Hey, have you seen the school pool?”

“Yes, I had a tour at the beginning of the week,” I replied.

Dylan did a double take. “You’re at Kings?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “We both are.”

“Emily didn’t tell us. Where do you live?”

“Bedford Park.”

Dylan laughed. “Just down the road.”

“Cool tats, dude,” Jack said, referring to the words written on Dylan’s wrists.

Dylan shifted in his seat, and I knew he was uncomfortable. “A moment of youthful madness,” he muttered, and his face darkened.

Oh. I had to remember to ask him about them.

“So, what are you studying, Jack?” Dylan said, and I suspected it was to deflect attention away from Define Yourself.

“Music, photography, physics, and maths.”

“Music? What do you play?” he asked.

“Guitar, piano, and drums.”

“Cool,” I said. “I’m doing music, physics, maths, and art. But I’ll be a year below you.”

“But you’re seventeen?” Jack said.

“Yeah, I know. I was very sick when I was five. I had pneumonia, and I was kept back a year. I’ve always been a year behind. But it does mean that I am the eldest in the class, rather than the youngest.”

“Oh, so you’re only just seventeen.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you play?”

“Cello and piano.”

“Awesome.”

Later, Dylan fixed up a badminton net in the garden in front of the pool, and the four of us had a game. Patrick was the most competitive, and the boys beat us hands down in spite of Dylan’s racket prowess. Lulu stayed beside the pool, topping up her tan and reading either her celebrity gossip magazines or Émile Zola’s Germinal in the original French. I still didn’t catch her taking any selfies.

As the sun sank in the sky, casting long shadows, the boys thanked us for a “totally sick afternoon.” They were off for a meal with their parents to celebrate their last night.

Jack gave me his mobile number and insisted on taking mine. “We’re driving off early tomorrow morning, so I’ll see you at school.” He grinned. He really had a lovely smile.

“Great, have a safe trip,” I called after them.

As I said the words, a tight lump formed and expanded in my throat. He and Patrick ran back to their gîte, and I stood gazing at them as my vision blurred and they disappeared. Tears started cascading down my face, from nowhere.

No. No. No. Safe trip.