Madame Pennyweather walked beside me out of the school with her hand in the centre of my back, “Have a lovely holiday, Miss Cotton,” She said gently, “Do you have plans with Oliver over break?”

“No, Ma'am. I don't imagine I'll see him until we're back.” I sort of whispered it. Even though he was three steps ahead of us and I knew he wasn't listening, I didn't want my father to hear.

Madame Pennyweather picked up on that immediately. She smiled kindly and patted me. She didn't say another word until she bid me safe voyage. I thanked her with a smile.

Dad tried to make idle chit chat with me on the drive to the school where my younger sister, Lucy, was attending, but I, of course, had very little to say. My father and I had never been close. I think when I was small that my mother had done most of the caring for me and by the time she died my father really had no sense of who I was. Lucy, on the other hand, was just baby and he’d had to give her the most attention. I was older and required less care, so I had to do for myself for the most part. Then he'd sent me off to school while he kept her home with him. Lucy and Dad had the bond. She could laugh with him and curl up on his lap and giggle, whereas his touch made me stiff and his humour didn't always suit me. I knew my father loved me in his way. He told me often enough and he showed it by making sure I always had what I needed, but the bottom line was that I’d been living away from him nine months out of the year for eight years and we didn’t know each other at all. Because I didn’t know him, I didn’t trust him to understand anything happening in my life and I never let him in. I didn’t even mention Oliver or Alexander or any of my other friends to him at all. After a time, he stopped talking and we drove on in silence.

As predicted I spent the majority of time in my bedroom with my books. Lucy came and went, annoying me and entertaining me interchangeably. I sank into a deep funk after a day or two and slept a lot, waking up only for the essential processes of being alive.

“Silvia, are you ill?” Dad asked me one night at supper. “You’ve been acting strangely.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I mumbled, dragging my fork through my mash.

“What’s that photo in your lap?” He looked over at me and held out his hand. It was a command to pass it over, so I did. It was of Oliver and me playfully waltzing on the quad. Lance had snapped it on Sandy’s photography club camera and Sandy sent it to me in the post. Dad held it up to his eyes and squinted. He'd obviously left his glasses in his office. I expected him to have a negative comment, but he actually smiled, “That’s a lovely shot. You look very happy. Is that your boyfriend?”

“Yes, Sir,” I took the photo back as he extended his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” Daddy didn’t sound particularly interested, but perhaps a bit curious. He leaned back in his chair and engaged me, “What’s his name?”

“Oliver Dickinson.” I tucked the photo back on to my lap and didn't look at him.

“What does his father do?”

“I’m not sure what he does exactly. He works for the National Museum.”

My father nodded. Having received the message that I wasn't eager to talk about it, he picked up his knife and fork and went back to his dinner. After a few bites he told me, “Well, eat and go and ring Oliver then. I’d hate for you to miss any more meals. Being lovesick can make you truly ill,” and then he returned to his food without another word.

I was amazed. I couldn’t believe he was actually going to let me use the phone! My father had always been very strict about me using the phone. Oliver had given me his number anyway, though, and I took it out of my purse and dialled him with shaking hands.

“Hello?” A woman answered. Her voice was light and airy and I knew it was his mother.

“Hello, Ma’am. Is Oliver available?”

There was a pause, “I’m trying to remember if he went with his father. Just a second,” I heard the phone rumble as if she’d covered it with her hand, “Xander, did Ollie go with your dad?”

“Judging by the fact that I’m Oliver, I’d say no, Mum.”

She laughed, deep from her belly, “Oh! Sorry!”

“It’s all right. I’m wearing a rugby shirt that says Alexander after all.”

“You have a bell. It’s the girl from school, I’ll wager.”

“Wonderful!” I could hear him snatch the receiver, “Oh, please, please, please tell me this is Just Silvia Cotton!”

“It is!”

“I hope you are not hurt or ticked off! I hope you‘re just fine!”

“I’m just miserable! I miss you so much I think I’m going mad!”

“I miss you, too, Sil. I don’t think you’re going mad, though, unless I am, too. We must be going through withdrawals. I’m having odd dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Like I get back to school and you’re snogging Merlyn and laughing about it at me, so I go and kill Merlyn and stuff his body under the sink in the boy’s toilet. Then someone tells me that you’ve been snogging Lance and Professor Wilkins, too, so I set about hunting them down so I can kill them as well. Then Professor Campbell nicks me in his office and takes me into this castle and makes me watch fashion shows and Joanna Brewster was in them all,” He paused, “You’re not snogging Merlyn, are you?”

“It’s you I’ll snog,” I made sure my father was not in hearing distance, “And only you. Did Joanna look nice?”

“For a troll in a bonnet, I suppose.”

The remainder of the holiday we spent mostly on the phone. As much as I wanted to, I never worked up the nerve to ask Daddy if Oliver could visit. I had this brutal anxiety that he would disapprove somehow and put me back in the school in Scotland. I almost wished he didn’t know about Oliver at all. I wasn’t interested in having anything come between us and my father had the power to do that. So did Oliver’s parents. Oliver was the first person in my life I’d ever become attached to. I honestly felt like I needed him, like I wouldn’t be able to breathe if he wasn’t going to be in my life. I was threatened by anyone who might be able to take him away.

I can’t imagine how I ran up my father’s phone bill that holiday, but he said nothing about it. If there was anything I appreciated about my dad it was his ability to not be passionate about anything, including money. The night before we were supposed to return to Bennington, I rang Oliver to say good night and tell him that I couldn’t wait to see him again. His mother answered, as usual, but what she said made my guts fall to my shoes.

“Yes, Oliver is here, but he is not allowed to speak to you. May I have a word with your mother?”

I began to tremble. I was certain she was going to tell my dad that I was never to call her home again and that she would make sure that Ollie would be forbidden from contact with me at Bennington. A crushing wave of completely illogical unease swept over me. I felt my eyes burn with tears.

“I…I…” I stammered for a moment and then took a breath, “My mother is passed, Ma’am, but I can get my father if you like.”

“Oh,” She sounded incredibly stiff, “I’m terribly sorry. Yes, please, a word with your father?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll go and get him.”

I walked down the hall on shaky legs and knocked lightly on his office door. “Daddy?”

“Open the door,” He replied mildly.

I made a crack and stuck my head in. He was sitting at his desk behind his computer with a pen in his hand. His rusty coloured hair was sticking up in all directions, “Daddy, I rang Oliver and his mother would like to speak with you.”

He looked up with a puzzled expression, “With me? Very well,” He leaned over and lifted the receiver of the telephone that sat on his desk. “Hello, this is Philip Cotton…yes…” He was looking at me the whole time, blankly as always. His thin lips were together in an expressionless line. “Yes…No, I didn’t know that. Oh, I understand…Yes, she’s very fond of your son…Oh, that’s too bad…Yes, we do these things as children and we learn from our mistakes… No, I don’t see that as being any problem…no, I agree completely…no, there’s no problem that I can see…certainly…yes, we’ll talk before then… fine…yes, thank you. All right then and you have a good evening as well.”