February 13th (132 days ago)

“You know,” I said sleepily. “I’m not a dolphin or a duck, Nick.” I had flu, and was holding the phone away from my face so my nose didn’t leave little slug trails all over the glass.

“You’re not?” I could hear him smiling. “Are you totally sure?”

“Hang on—” I sneezed and reached for a tissue with my eyes still shut. “Yes. And that means I don’t sleep with one half of my brain still awake so that I can surface periodically for air or keep an eye out for predators, so when you ring me at” – I held the phone a little further away – “6.34am on a Saturday, I am one hundred per cent asleep.”

“Gotcha.” Nick laughed. “If only you were a giraffe. They only sleep for about five minutes at a time, so you’d probably be awake.”

Huh. That was totally one of my facts. I couldn’t believe he was stealing them already. Did boys have no shame?

“Actually, giraffes have neither hands nor vocal cords, so I don’t think that would help me much with the whole answering the phone conundrum.” I smiled and sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Have you finished the Dolce & Gabbana shoot? How’s Paris?”

“Cold. But not as cold as here.”

I blinked. “Here? As in England?”

“As in here.” Something hit my window.

My stomach flipped, and I bolted out of bed and pulled open the curtains. There he was: lit neon yellow in the early-morning lamplight. The only person on the entire planet who could look beautiful the same colour as a Simpson.

We beamed goofily at each other, and then he flicked his wrist and something else hit my window. “You can stop throwing pebbles, Romeo,” I laughed.

“They’re not pebbles,” he called up. “They’re mints. Something to eat on the train journey and fresh breath all in one go. A multi-purpose tactic. Or a multi-purpose Tic Tac. Catch.” He grinned and lobbed another one.

(It landed in the front garden and would result in an hour of my father wandering around later, saying “Annabel? I think the birds around here have got some really regularly shaped constipation.”)

“Wait there,” I said, and then tore around my bedroom, desperately trying to make myself look presentable. My nose was bright red and flaky, there was yellow crust in the corner of my eyes and when I licked my hand and sniffed it, there was the sick, flu-y aroma of damp curtains.

I’d have to start sleeping with a toothbrush and little bowl of rose water next to my bed, or maybe just a pre-emptive paper bag to put over my head for moments like this.

I quickly swilled a bit of cold, sugary tea around my mouth, spat it into a pot plant and sprayed some perfume in my general direction. Then I took a deep breath and flew down the stairs with my dressing gown fluttering like a superhero’s cape.

“Yo,” he grinned as I flung open the door. I was flushed and shaky and hot all over and it had nothing to do with my viral infection.

“Hey,” I mumbled, suddenly shy.

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit snotty and gross, if I’m totally honest.”

His hair was all pointy, his eyelids were sleepy, and he had his big blue army coat on: the one with pockets so big they could fit both our hands in it at the same time. He looked so handsome it took every single bit of energy I had not to dance a smug little MINE-MINE-MINE jig right in front of him on the doorstep.

“You look ridiculously cute,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Have you considered accessorising with a bug more often?” I stuck my tongue out. “On second thoughts, I wouldn’t put that back in if I were you.” He grinned as I play-punched his arm and pulled out a flask from behind his back.

“So, Sick Note, I’ve brought you a honey and lemon and paracetamol drink that shall remain unbranded for the sake of impartiality.” He dipped into his huge pockets and pulled out a little box of tissues. “These, for your runny little nose.” He took his stripy scarf off. “This, for your normal-length, non-giraffe neck.” Then he made a little flourish and pulled out a tiny toy lion.

I went even brighter red. “Umm,” I said, clearing my throat awkwardly. “I have absolutely no idea what this is referring to.”

He leant forward and kissed me gently, like some kind of brave, flu-impervious Arthurian knight. “I’ve seen what’s written all over the history exercise book that you’ve been sadly neglecting of late, Manners. I was going to try and bring a real one for you, but they wouldn’t let both of us out of the zoo.”

I kissed him back, and having the flu was suddenly the best thing that had ever, ever happened to me. I was going to look into having it forever.

“I didn’t think you were in the country until Tuesday,” I said when I finally caught my breath. (And sneezed into my dressing-gown collar.)

“And let you hog all these disgusting germs to yourself?” Nick brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “I needed to talk to you about something.”

I tried to steady myself surreptitiously against the doorframe so my boyfriend wouldn’t see that kissing him had made me dizzy. After two months, I was pretty sure that was supposed to have worn off. If anything, he was getting more and more handsome and it was getting worse. “Talk to me about what?”

“Anything,” Nick grinned, tapping the end of my nose. “I just wanted to talk to you, Harriet. About anything.”

And he kissed me all over again.