I grin at him.

‘C’mon,’ he says, dragging me to my feet. A curtain twitches in my bedroom, and I catch a glimpse of Kazia, peeking out. ‘A guided tour of Liverpool,’ Dan is saying. ‘Let’s go!’

‘No, Dan,’ I laugh. ‘Not tonight. It is late, and dark. I have homework –’

‘Homework?’ Dan frowns, as if he’s never heard of such a thing.

‘I have lots of work to do,’ I tell him. ‘I must practise my English, catch up with lessons…’

‘Seriously?’ Dan asks. ‘You’re not coming out?’

I shake my head.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he tries instead. ‘We’ll start tomorrow! I want to show you that Liverpool can be fun!’

‘Dan, I…’

I want to tell him that this is a bad idea. We are too different to be friends, the bad boy and the quiet girl who can’t even string a few sentences together. And I don’t want to risk being hurt again, which means that going anywhere with Dan Carney would be a bad, bad idea. My head aches, trying to put together the verbs and adjectives, and when my mouth opens, everything goes wrong.

‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘This sounds… good!’

‘Cool!’ His soft brown eyes twinkle. ‘See you then,’ he says.

Never trust a boy, isn’t that what Frankie said? I guess I should have listened.

Dan Carney is not in school the next day, and although I’m half expecting to find him camped out on my doorstep after 3.30, there’s no sign of him.

I start some maths homework, then some art. Still no Dan.

‘Why d’you keep looking out of the window?’ Kazia wants to know. ‘Are you looking for that weird boy?’

‘No,’ I snap. ‘I’m not looking for anyone!’

I don’t have any more homework, but I remember Miss Matthews’s advice. I open my exercise book and write a couple of pages about Krakow. Still no Dan.

Dad is even later home tonight, so we don’t eat supper till eight. Kazia and I wash up, then I iron some clothes for school and go to bed, wishing I had never heard of Dan Carney.

There’s a faint ringing noise, like the sound of a demented mobile, tugging me from sleep. Then silence. I sigh and stretch and drag the blankets over my head, and then it’s back, a shrill, chirpy sound, nagging, persistent.

I sit up. The room is still, except for Kazia’s muffled breathing in the bed across from me. The noise must be coming from outside. It’s too thin and reedy to be a car alarm. It sounds like… a bicycle bell.

I slide out of bed and run over to the window, lifting up the corner of the threadbare curtain. There on the pavement, in a pool of yellow light from the street lamp, is Dan Carney, wearing angel wings, astride a big old-fashioned bike with a basket fixed to the front of it. He rings the bell again, grinning up at me.

I pull on my pink fluffy slippers and grab a coat, creep past Mum and Dad’s bedroom and down the creaky stairs. I open the door and slip outside, shivering in the cold night air.

‘What are you doing?’ I whisper. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

‘You said you liked the angel wings,’ Dan shrugs. ‘So here I am. Just didn’t want people to think I make a habit of all this feathery stuff, OK? I have a reputation to keep up. So… well, I figured there wouldn’t be many people around to see me at this time of night.’

He notices my fluffy slippers and spotty pyjamas, frowning. ‘Um… are you ready?’

‘Ready?’ I echo.

Dan looks confused. ‘The guided tour,’ he says. ‘It was all arranged. You agreed!’

‘But it is so late!’ I protest. ‘Everyone is asleep!’

Dan laughs. ‘Exactly,’ he tells me. ‘We have the whole city to ourselves, practically. C’mon!’

‘I cannot!’ I argue. ‘My family!’

‘They’re asleep, you said so yourself,’ Dan says. ‘Besides, you promised. And I borrowed the bike specially. C’mon!’

Before I know what’s happening, Dan slides his arms round me and hauls me up on to the crossbar of the bike. ‘No!’ I yelp. ‘Dan! I cannot!’

But Dan isn’t listening. He launches the bike off the pavement and out along the road, wobbling slightly. I shift position, grab on to the handlebars with one hand and Dan with the other. I have never ridden on the crossbar of a rickety old bike before, or been kidnapped either, for that matter. I guess there is a first time for everything.

I’m surprised to find I’m smiling.

‘So,’ Dan says, steering the bike round on to the wide, tree-lined