Greg woke up and turned off his alarm. He showered — cold water, exactly five minutes — and then brushed his teeth. Today, he dressed in his Thursday outfit: black slacks, a pink shirt, and a white tie. He bleached it once a week, to keep it pristine.

Then he went to his computer.

He followed the usual routine: opening a private browser, setting the time frame to a week, and then typing in the search term.

A result popped up.

Greg paused, his finger hovering over his mousepad. He could feel his pulse accelerate. He was experiencing a release of hormones that caused increased heart palpitations, Greg recalled. The adrenaline would linger in his bloodstream for up to one hour.

He clicked on the result.

And there she was, standing on some grassy hill in the darkness, kissing a stranger. The image was grainy, but it was unmistakeably her.

Alicia.

He didn't know the man, but it didn't matter. Greg would get rid of him. By force, if he had to. He noted the location — Edinburgh, although the article said that the couple had been spotted more recently in St Andrews — and then pulled out his phone.

He had a train ticket to book.

Alicia was in shock.

She stumbled on to the empty street, staring around numbly. Twilight plunged the town into shadow, making the dark buildings look jagged and crooked as rotting teeth. Brine and sickly-sweet flowers hung in the air. Somewhere, she could hear church bells ringing and seagulls squabbling for scraps.

"Alicia!"

She started walking.

"Alicia!" Oliver seized her shoulder. "Wait. Please."

"Why?" she snapped. "So you can lie to me some more?"

Oliver flinched. "I deserve that." He dropped his hand, his jaw working. "I deserve a lot more than that, actually."

"So you admit it." Her chest was heaving. "You're him. You're..."

She couldn't even bring herself to say it. She thought of every time that Oliver had lied to her about being a dancer. The smug look on the other boys' faces as they bandied around that word today. Patriots. And she had sat there, smiling like an idiot, oblivious to it all.

Her mother was right.

He had been lying to her all along.

She hugged her arms around herself. "You let me sit there and tell you that I hated your music. I laughed about running your CDs over with my car. I laughed about it, Oliver. Do you know how stupid I feel?"

"I should have told you."

"And Tess." Alicia hated the shake in her voice. "She recognized you, didn't she? That night at the restaurant?"

She should have guessed. Her younger sister had such a weird reaction to Oliver; at the time, Alicia had just assumed that Tess was excited to see her with someone that wasn't Greg, but now she knew the truth. And Oliver had been standing right next to the table when it went up in flames; he could have easily kicked the candle over.

"Yes." Oliver's eyes were pained. "Yes, Tess knows."

Alicia closed her eyes. "You know, I've spent most of my life expecting people to hurt me. My father. My friends. Greg. Sometimes, I think I even wanted them to. I thought that I deserved it, somehow. But you." Her voice broke. "You caught me by surprise, Oliver. Congratulations."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wanted to tell you."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was scared." Oliver's Adam's apple bobbed. "I know you hate attention. And I thought that if you knew who I really was..." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It was selfish of me. I see that, now."

"Yes. It was."

"I was going to tell you," Oliver added. "Today. Just now." He rocked back and forth on his heels. "But then the boys showed up and it was too late. You have to believe me, Leese; I was going to tell you everything."

"But I don't believe you." Her throat ached. "How can I? All you've done is lie to me."

"Alicia—"

"No." She held up a hand. "Do you know how hard it is for me to open up to people, Oliver? Sometimes I feel like I'm ripping off scabs over and over again. But I did it. For you." Her eyes stung. "I should have known better."

"I'll do better." He took her hands. "Alicia, I swear. I'll make it up to you."

She hesitated. Oliver's hair looked almost white in the fading light, just at the roots, as if someone had brushed his scalp with liquid gold. And then it occurred to her that it probably was gold; he must have dyed his hair before he moved here. The brown color was a lie. Just like everything else.

"No." Alicia wrenched her hands away. "You won't. Because I don't believe in second chances, Oliver; people only use them to hurt you again."

And with that, she turned on her heel, vanishing into the night.

Alicia curled up on her side, staring at the slats reflected on her ceiling; they looked like black and white dominos, speckled with the dust on her windows. Outside, a car rattled past their flat. She could hear the crash of ocean waves, rising and falling with her breath. Her alarm clock blinked the hour. One o'clock in the morning.

Her door creaked open. "Leese?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you still up?" Hattie treaded softly into the room. "I can't sleep."

Alicia rolled over, lifting her covers in a silent invitation. Hattie slid into bed, pillowing her head against her hand. Her blonde curls spilled over the white bedsheets. She looked particularly young in her Donald Duck pajamas. Young, and yet achingly old.

"I knew he was too perfect," Hattie whispered. "Brooks, I mean." She traced a pattern on the pillow. "Sometimes I worry that I spend all this time dreaming up things in my head — patterns and designs and people — and the reality will never be as good."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." Her blue eyes were sad. "About Oliver."

Alicia reached out to squeeze her hand. Hattie gave her a small smile, curling her knees into her chest. "You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" she asked. "Boys come and go, but I'll be here in this bed with you. Always."

Alicia's throat swelled. "You're a good friend, Hattie."

"Not as good as you."

"Well," Alicia said, deadpan, "we're both pretty fucking brilliant."

Hattie gave a rather unladylike snort. Alicia grinned, poking her in the ribs, and Hattie squealed as she slapped her hand away. "Stay on your side of the bed, you arse!"

"Who said you could stay?"

Hattie rolled her eyes. "Just be grateful I'm letting you keep a pillow." She turned over, tugging the blankets up to her chest.

The next morning, Alicia was called into Mary's office.

She trudged up the steps to the stone building, her heart beating out of her chest. In the last three months of working as a caddy, Alicia had only been called into Mary's office once, and that was to sign her contract. She couldn't imagine why the Irish woman would want to speak to her today.

Unless Mary was giving her the sack, Alicia reflected. Two days before the Links tournament. That would just be the cherry on top of this week, wouldn't it?

She pushed into the room.

Mary was sitting behind a large desk, a sea of papers spread out in front of her. A fire was crackling low in the grate. And sitting in front of Mary's desk, one leg crossed over the other, was a smirking Antony McIntosh.

What the hell?

"Ah, Alicia." Mary smiled thinly. "Would you like to take a seat?"

She stayed put. "What's Antony doing here?"

"Mr. McIntosh," Mary said pointedly, "has an offer for you." She gestured to the open chair. "Do sit. Please."

It wasn't a question this time. Alicia slid into the seat, looking suspiciously at Antony. He gave her a winning smile.

"Well." Alicia crossed her arms. "Spit it out, then."

She wasn't in the mood to be charitable. It had occurred to her last night that Antony must have been in on the whole Oliver charade, which meant that he, too, had spent the last month lying to her face. Mary scowled at her.

"Alicia!"

"It's fine, Mary." Antony waved her off. "Alicia is always spirited." He was still wearing that same infuriating grin. "I have a proposition for you, sugarplum."

No, I won't sleep with you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue. Alicia forced herself to remain silent, though, if only because Mary really would fire her. Antony continued.

"I want you to be my caddy," he said. "For the Links tournament."

Alicia stared at him. Hang on. Had he just said...? "But I can't." She glanced at Mary. "Isn't that against the rules?"

Professional golfers rarely had female caddies, and certainly never ones as young as Alicia. Plus, Antony had entered the tournament with another caddy; surely, he couldn't switch this late on? But Mary merely pursed her lips, as if she had swallowed a sour candy.

"Technically, it's fine," Mary said, in a clipped tone that suggested she very much wished it wasn't and had already combed the rulebook several times this morning.

Antony leaned back. "Well? What do you think?"

Alicia shifted in her seat.

She should say no. Obviously. There would be cameras and reporters everywhere; she might as well send up a blimp with her name on it. But for the first time, Alicia was dying to say yes. Antony might as well have been dangling a chocolate biscuit in front of a starving woman half-crazed with hunger.

Could she do it?

Alicia licked her lips. She could wear a cap, couldn't she? And Antony would put down a false name, if she asked him to. She could get away with it.

Antony's smile wavered. "Alicia?"

"Yeah. Yes. I'll do it."

Sod it. What was life without some risk?

Antony beamed at her. Mary immediately started droning on about paperwork, shuffling a number of sheets. It was only when she left the room to find a working pen that Antony turned to face her fully.

"Oliver called me," he said. "He told me what happened yesterday."

"Let's not talk about it."

"I really think—"

"Antony." Her voice was sharp. "Please. Can we stay focused on golf?"

Antony fiddled with a pencil, swinging it back and forth like a club. For a moment, Alicia thought he might plow on anyways, but then he shrugged. "Sure. Golf only. Got it." He set the pencil down. "Let's start with what distances I can hit. Do you have a notepad?"

Alicia woke up on the morning of the golf tournament in a good mood.

She hummed to herself as she pulled on a white boiler suit, tying her hair up in a long ponytail. It wasn't the most fashionable look — very "I-escaped-from-a-high-ops-prison" — but she didn't care. She was caddying today. At the Links. For Antony McIntosh.

A year ago, she would have fainted at the prospect.

She wandered into the kitchen, popping a slice of bread in the toaster. They had been working hard over the past few days, tweaking his swing and studying the layout of the course. Antony had played it before, of course, but the conditions were supposed to be bad today: hard wind and a light drizzle.

Still.

Antony could handle it.

She smeared salted butter and orange marmalade on her toast. She had even managed to avoid Oliver and his band over the past three days — no mean feat, with how small the town was. Poor Hattie, on the other hand, had run into Brooks in Tesco and promptly sheltered behind a display of bell peppers.

"Peppers," Hattie had moaned, waving her hands for emphasis. "Do you know how humiliating it is to hide behind garden vegetables?"

Tess had tried ringing her several times, but Alicia had dodged all of her calls. She wasn't ready to speak to her younger sister yet. Not when she kept vividly imagining taking scissors and cutting off all of Tess's hair in her sleep.

Still, Alicia mused, taking a bite of toast, today was a new day — and she was caddying for the best amateur golfer in the world. What could possibly go wrong?

Hattie burst into the kitchen.

"Morning," Alicia sang. "You're up early." She polished off her toast, running her plate under the tap. "Are you off to the gym?"

"Leese. I need to tell you something."

"Wait." Alicia held up a finger. "Is it that boiler suits are going back into fashion?" She tugged at the white sleeve. "I'm asking for a friend, obviously."

Hattie shook her head wordlessly. Her face was the same color as her boiler suit, making her freckles stand out in sharp relief. She was holding her phone in one hand, but it looked limp. As if she had forgotten about it.

"Hattie?"

"Here." She thrust the phone at her. "Look at this."

"If it's more beauty guru drama, Hattie, I swear—"

"Alicia." Her voice was serious. "Just look."

Alicia took the phone. It was open to some sort of trashy tabloid article about a celebrity that had been spotted in Edinburgh. The article was accompanied by a picture of a silhouetted couple kissing outside a building with a green drum on it. She frowned. Actually, that building looked a lot like—

Alicia froze.

"Oh, my god," she whispered.

It was her. The photo was her.

A/N: Yet another cliffhanger!

So I really love writing romance-y stuff, but I have to admit that one of my favourite scenes in this novel was the Alicia/Hattie moment in this chapter. Platonic love is just as important as romantic love, and I will die on that hill.

How do you think Alicia is going to react to the photo? Will she keep her cool, or is all hell about to break loose?

Affectionately,

J.K.