We left early.

Andy’s house was dark and empty as we tiptoed

upstairs in the moonlight, my senses on overdrive, aware

of every touch, every sound, my heart beating madly as we

stepped into his bedroom. Suddenly he flicked

switch,

and gasped as hundred tiny fairy-lights flickered to life,

twinkling over the mirror, looping around the window,

34

and circling his bed, which was scattered with rose petals.

It was beautiful. Perfect.

He turned to me, his eyes sparkling, and kissed me,

long, lingering kiss that sent shivers down my spine and

my head spinning into orbit as we fell onto the bed.

kissed him harder, enjoying the weight of his body on

mine as his fingers slid down my back, my waist, my hip,

and finally gasped as they slipped inside my knickers,

smooth and warm and so, so gentle.

He began to tug them down, down

but suddenly

grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“I’m sorry,”

gasped, struggling for breath, “I’m

sorry.”

“Hey.” He smiled, kissing me. “Shh, don’t be.” He

brushed hair from my forehead, his eyes deep in mine.

“You call the shots. Okay?”

nodded, and we struggled up into

sitting

position.

pulled my dress back down and hugged my

knees, my cheeks blazing.

What now?

Andy leapt up. “Some chocolates, Mademoiselle?”

he asked in

French accent, grabbing

pretty box from

his bedside table and presenting it with

flourish.

“Decadently dark, dreamily creamy, finest Belgian

chocolates, fresh from the expert chocolatiers of, um,

Tesco’s.”

“Magnifique,” giggled, watching him as he tore off

the wrapping, his cheeks glowing in the soft light, his

35

blond hair deliciously ruffled next to his crumpled shirt.

He was so gorgeous, so sexy, so Andy.

“Voilà!” he announced, opening the box. “Now,

would Mademoiselle care for truffle delight?

caramel

sensation? Or perhaps that most controversial of

delicacies, strawberry creme?”

tiny, puzzled smile flickered over his face as took

the whole box from his hands and pushed it aside.

“You’re wonderful,” told him.

He smiled. “You too.”

Then

kissed him, deep and meaningfully, my

fingers traveling down to his shirt buttons.

“Rosie.” Andy broke away suddenly, his eyes

searching mine. “Rose, you don’t have to—”

placed finger over his lips, and smiled.

“I want to.”

climbed onto his lap and kissed him again,

undoing one button after another, tugging the shirt free

from his warm, smooth, firm body, lifting my arms as he

pulled my dress up over my head and dropped it in lilac

pool on the floor, shivering as his fingers trailed gently

down my bare back. Finally, his eyes found mine.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he told me, kissing me. “I

love you.” He stroked my face. “But are you sure—”

kissed him in answer, placing his hand on my

breast, then reaching for his buckle. He didn’t need telling

twice. He pulled me to him, the warmth of his skin against

mine making me shiver uncontrollably, his kisses hot and

breathy as

pulled him ever closer, wanting him so

36

desperately. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my

back, my breasts, my legs—then suddenly, he stopped.

“Did you hear that?”

“No,” panted, pulling him closer.

He kissed me, then stopped again. “Listen.”

There was faint humming sound from my bag. My

mobile.

“Ignore it,” whispered, my fingers tangling in his

hair. “They’ll leave message.”

“But it’s the middle of the night—it could be

important—”

The ringing stopped.

“See?” smiled. “Can’t have been that important.”

“I suppose not.” Andy grinned, rolling me

underneath him as shrieked happily. “Now, where were

we?” His mouth found mine.

Suddenly the humming started again.

Andy looked at me.

“Okay,” groaned, fumbling for my phone.

It glowed green in the darkness: Bex

“Typical.”

grinned, flicking it off. “Wanting

progress report, no doubt.”

“Well, we’d better give you something to tell her,

then,” Andy growled, nibbling at my neck and making me

giggle.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the house phone made

us both jump.

“What the …” Andy frowned, checking his watch.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning!”

37

“Ignore it,”

pleaded, kissing his ear. “No one’s

here.”

He kissed me absently, still listening to the phone.

“I’d better go.”

“Andy …” Another kiss.

“I’ll be right back,

promise.” He smiled, gently

disentangling himself from my arms. “Okay?”

pouted, and he kissed my lips. “Okay?”

“Okay.” smiled. “But hurry!”

The ringing stopped, and lay there, listening, but

couldn’t hear anything.

picked up Andy’s shirt, which

was still warm, still filled with that same delicious Andy

smell, and pulled it on, draping myself seductively on the

bed just as he returned.

“Well?” purred. “What do you think …?”

Andy handed me the phone. “It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“Bex.” He rolled his eyes.

“No. Way. She rang your house?”

scrambled up

from the bed to take the handset. “Bex, this’d better be

good …”

“Rosie—finally! called your mobile five times!”

“Sorry, didn’t hear it—I was busy …” grinned at

Andy. “What’s so important?”

“It’s your mum,” Bex said. “She’s here.”

“Shit!” sighed crossly. “Does she want me to come

home? Well, tough, I’m sixteen years old, and I’ll do what

I—”

38

“No, Rosie,” Bex interrupted, her voice urgent.

“She’s had an accident.”

jump at the sound of Andy’s car horn. Shit.

wrench the covers off and jump out of bed—too quickly.

The room spins, and

grab on to the sink for support,

shutting my eyes and praying not to throw up. wait for

second.

Nothing. Gingerly, open an eye and am greeted by

sullen, ashen-faced reflection. stare.

Gone is the rosy-cheeked schoolgirl who last looked

in this mirror. The girl with all the friends and the

amazing boyfriend, the girl looking forward to carefree

summer of traveling—to the rest of her life. She

disappeared eighteen months ago.

My eyes flick to the photos surrounding the mirror,

searching for her, but though dozens of smiling faces

beam back at me, there’s no one know. stare at them.

Gone are the photos we’d tacked up of our school friends,

our dates, our memories—replaced with strangers: out

clubbing, on holidays, in the park—Andy grinning and

laughing with people I’ve never even met, having the time

of his life. Having

life. Going traveling

remember, my

heart sinking.

But not with me

My chest aches. Suddenly he feels

million miles

away. was wrong. Things have changed. We’ve changed.

Everything changed that night. The last night was here.

But he kissed me last night

remind myself

desperately— that must mean something?

39

My eyes dart frantically over the photos, desperate

to find

picture of me, of us—a party,

date—

something—some sign that he’s thought about me in all

this time, that he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him.

Suddenly my heart stops, my eyes frozen on picture of