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Charlotte was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

‘Ah … there’s the three-day rule, isn’t there?’

‘Oh, right. But I think we could skip that, couldn’t we?’

‘Sure. How about … the cinema? Maybe dinner first?’

She clapped her hands together. ‘Fantastic.’ Her smile dropped. ‘But you don’t need to take me anywhere posh. Like, fish ’n’ chips would do.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. We could eat them under a bus shelter in the snow, like teenagers.’

‘Seriously?’

She nodded. ‘Then the cinema will feel really warm.’

He smiled. ‘Perfect. So what time is good? Four o’clock?’

‘I’ll meet you on the corner of Sycamore Park, at the entrance by the Oak Leaf Café. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great.’

It was hard to leave. He wanted to stay longer, caught up in that glow of warm emotions. At the door, he wanted to kiss her, he so wanted to kiss her, but he lost his nerve. Charlotte looked expectant, but in the end, he settled for a squeeze of her hand.

‘Four o’clock,’ he said.

‘I won’t be late,’ she said.

The glow followed him as he walked back across a snowy Brentwell. Back at his flat, he found himself wanting to do something wanton and deranged, like burst into song. Doubting the neighbours would appreciate it, he kept it to a quiet hum, but nothing he tried to get into would take his mind off Charlotte. He couldn’t read, couldn’t watch TV; all he could think about was the beautiful blonde teacher with the easy manner and the kind smile. He remembered a quote he had read from Einstein about relativity, something about a moment touching a hot plate could feel like an eternity, but an hour in the presence of a pretty girl could feel like but a moment.

Good God, the time dragged, as he waited for four o’clock. It was like each passing second was a ponderous, drawn-out exercise in time taking the mickey. When he let his vision blur as he stared at the wall clock, it seemed to become a laughing, mocking face.

And of course, when four o’clock did roll around, and he met Charlotte on the corner of Sycamore Park, time suddenly seemed to jump on the treadmill and start galloping at high speed. They had fish ’n’ chips beneath a bus shelter in the snow, picking a spot with a view of the church and all its Christmas lights, and afterwards Jacob could barely remember how they tasted. Charlotte held his arm as they walked up to the cinema, then the film—a generic action thriller chosen after they each threw a snowball at the listings board outside Brentwell Cinema, and both managed to hit the same title—was over in a moment, and they were walking back towards the taxi rank in the square by the church.

Jacob wanted a thousand things. He wanted to hold her forever, wanted to take her home, wanted to introduce her to his mother, marry her, live happily ever after. In the end, what he did was help her into a taxi, and promise to call in a couple of days. Tomorrow he had to meet his mother, and Charlotte typically spent Sundays preparing for the school week, plus she’d made arrangements for lunch with one of her grandmother’s old social clubs. He held her close, breathing her in, until the taxi driver snapped that the meter was already running, and that Jacob ought to let go of her in case she turned into a pumpkin at midnight. She climbed in, waved goodbye, and he wondered whether he should have tried to kiss her, regretting that he hadn’t. He watched the taxi go, feeling a lurch in his heart as it took her away, then slowly lifted a hand to wave.

Still buzzing from their date, he was too alert to go home so soon.

The snow had stopped, but Brentwell was still a fluffy white blanket, illuminated by strings of fairy lights the council had strung up between street lights. Hands in his pockets, he strolled down the high street and over to Sycamore Park.

Here, most of the lights had been turned off, just a few streetlights illuminated at wide intervals to push the shadows back from the main walking paths. Jacob followed the main circle that led around the outside of the park, past the Oak Leaf Café, through Big Gerry’s Plaza, past the children’s play area to the south plaza where Pete Markham’s van could be found during the day. Then into the trees to the duck pond, and then up around again to the theatre square with the library alongside. He walked slowly, head down, going over every minute of his time with Charlotte, wishing he was with her now. She had messaged him to say she had got home and to wish him goodnight, but he didn’t think he would be able to sleep even if he did go home. As he came up to the theatre square, he wondered if he ought to do another circuit, or whether it was best to get home before he froze to death. He was only just getting over a cold, after all.

At the edge of the theatre square, he looked up, stopping dead in his tracks.

A figure stood halfway across the square, facing him. Little more than a silhouette, he could make out the outline of a top hat, a billowing cape.

James.

Where had he come from? How long had he been watching Jacob? And had he seen Charlotte? Had he seen them together?

James took a couple of steps, leaving no doubt in Jacob’s mind that this was a confrontation that had been planned, one he had no choice but to face. He thought about how his brother had mocked him, sprayed him with water, and felt a twinge of anger. When he thought about his mother, how she had nearly died, and the subsequent court case which had nearly broken her spirit, however, his arms began to tingle, his hands to clench into fists. Perhaps this was the confrontation he needed, after all.

He started walking again, stopping a few paces away from James. His stepbrother’s face was in shadow, but when he tilted his head, Jacob saw the glint in his eyes.

‘We meet again, stepbrother,’ James said.