It began in a small, boxy patio, with dubstep music wailing at us from the indoors.
I was up in Newcastle at a New Year’s Eve party. Tom sat beside me. His tweed jacket had holes in it. His ginger curls peaked out from underneath his flat cap. He had green eyes and a wicked grin; the kind of grin, I imagined, that had made schoolteachers reel as they marched him to detention.
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