Seventy two. Seventy three.
She sits under the oak tree and she waits. Her knees are drawn up to her chin and her fingernails are digging into her arms. She hasn't seen James since the end of last summer. She didn't get to see him at Christmas. She had to go back to London to see her much richer and snobbier cousins, and now she can't wait to see her best friend again. She's missed him so much.
She's counting to one hundred. He's late so she is counting to one hundred for something to do.
Ninety. Ninety one. Nine-
"Hello, stranger!" a voice calls from upriver. Her eyes fly open and her head whips round. She smiles and stretches out her legs.
"Hey," she says as he sits down next to her. There is a small moment of silence as they study each other. It's only been since last summer but it could have been all the time in the world.
He doesn't look much different to her. His hair is slightly longer and even more unruly than before. It sticks up all funny at the back. His hazel eyes are as sharp as ever but now they have an extra air of mischief to them.
She looks completely different to him. She's grown out her honey-blonde bob and the curls fall against her shoulders. She was always skinny but she somehow seems even thinner. Her face is far too angular for a girl of her age. What's most horrible to him is the way her smile does not quite reach her eyes.
"What's Scotland like?" she asks eventually. He grins.
"You would hate it," he said. "It rains so much and you always moan when it rains. And you would hate the snow, City Girl."
She shudders and he laughs.
"It's not all bad. The castle grounds are great when it's sunny," he admits. Her mouth falls open and she leans forward.
"You never said it was a castle!" she says.
"Oh. Didn't I?" he frowns and lifts a hand to rumple his hair. She frowns. He looks stupid doing that. She blinks as she realises he's been talking to her, telling her all about the school.
"...And I've got some great friends. You'd get on with my best mate, Sirius. He's quite a lot like you sometimes. And the teachers are OK, especially the..."
He pauses like he's thinking for the right word.
"...The gym teacher," he finally decides. "The gym teacher, Madam Hooch. She knows her stuff. I think I might try out for my House team when I get back."
"Team for what?" she says. "Not football, you are hopeless! This Madam Hooch must be magical if you can now play football!"
His mouth twitches and suddenly he's laughing and rolling across the grass.
"What?" she demands. "What?!"
"Nothing," he chuckles and sits up. "It's not football. It's a special sport we play at school. You wouldn't get it; the rules are too complicated."
She pouts and gives him a playful kick.
"Fine. Keep your special game and your special school," she says with only a hint of bitterness.
"So, what's your school like? You went to Brackenbrook Academy, right?" he asks. Something flickers across her face and she draws her knees back up under her chin.
"S'OK. It's school. I bet it's not as interesting as boarding school in a castle in Scotland," she says with a grin. He takes the bait and goes off again on another tale. He tells her about the lake and the greenhouses and the Great Hall and the dormitory he shared with his friends.
She can't tell him about Brackenbrook. He was her only friend at their primary school in the village. She never made time for the other children and they did not forget it when they moved up to secondary. She had not made time for them so now they did not make time for her. She can't tell him how she sits by herself at the back of the class. How she has to wait for the teacher to pair them up for group work as nobody volunteers to be her partner. How she leaves the house as late as possible in the mornings so she does not have to stand by herself at the bus-stop while everyone else chats with their friends. How she sits in the stairwell at lunchtime so she doesn't have to find a table by herself in the canteen.
How she rushes home at the end of the day and how, with a noncommittal grunt at her father about her day, she rushes straight out again to come down here to the oak tree down by the river. And how she sits on the riverbank and counts to one hundred.
Because for every hundred she counts, she gets a little bit closer to being back to him. She is a little closer to not being alone.