”“I love you too, Riss.”As good as her word, even though she came straight to my house after school that night, we spent two hours doing homework at the kitchen table before she cooked dinner. After eating, we settled down in front of the telly and flicked through the hundred or so channels on the satellite until we found something interesting. Not that we watched much of it. In fact, we enjoyed a repeat performance of the night of the Christmas Ball—only without the tears and forced non-break-up break-up.And almost every night after that was the same. We fell right back into our old routine. Fridays we went out on a date and we spent all day Saturdays together. Like I said, Life was good.In stark contrast to the Halloween Ball and Christmas Ball, the Valentine’s Ball was just about perfect. It was almost ruined before it got started because I swear Clarissa looked so good when I opened the door to greet her that I almost went into cardiac arrest. Seriously, words don’t exist to. Then I remembered the video. I grabbed the laptop and headed upstairs.It was better than I had thought possible. The picture was crystal clear, and the sound was sharp. I could relive every swish, every crack of the cane, every cry of pain or ecstasy. After only an hour or so of playing with my new toy - the slow-mo itself was worth the price of the system - I emailed Laura the link, which gave her access to recordings and live access.All was quiet over the garage the next day. After reviewing last night's video a couple of times I got up and carried out the boring chores of cleaning and doing the shopping. Suburbia. Where you come to die, I thought, as I trudged the frozen food aisle of Sainsbury's. Then the rear view of Laura on the cross-trainer opened in my mind's eye and I cheered up, nearly running over a small child in the process. I'd just unloaded the shopping when a brightly coloured Mini scrunched over the gravel and pulled up in front of the garage. A tall, leggy blonde.
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