I jog down the alley steps, struggling to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. The car flashes and beeps invitingly at the end of the alleyway and I obligingly hop inside. Jeremy climbs into the driver's seat, starts the car and flips through the stations while the roof glides over our heads revealing a very clear, very starry sky. He settles on what sounds like an old alternative rock song. I don't think I've heard it before. He looks straight ahead onto the dark street and revs the engine loudly, almost as if to check that it's still there. The sound sends an electrifying flutter from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care," I answer truthfully.

He rewards me with his heart-shattering half-smile and a devilish gleam in his blue eyes that leaves me breathless. He releases the handbrake and off we go at a steady pace until he sees the main road. We stop a few meters away from the give-way, even though there isn't a car in sight. I look at him curiously but he doesn't notice. 

There is a strange expression on his face, a cross between determination and nostalgia. The corners of his mouth curl slightly. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Suddenly, his eyes catch fire, his round lips release a slow breath and he steps hard on the gas pedal.

The tires screech as the car takes off, fast and smooth. When we reach the crossing, he swiftly turns the wheel to the right and counter-steers to the left, manoeuvring the handbrake expertly. The car drifts in a wide arch, facing the wall on the side of the road. He turns the steering wheel to the right again and the car glides sideways across the tarmac. His face and eyes are focused as he brings the car to face the right way around and before I have time to breathe, it bolts forward as though we've been catapulted through space and time.

A loud scream escapes my lungs as we speed past the trees, closed shops and lampposts. I feel the wind blowing through my hair, my clothes, my face, dragging away with it every worry or fear or care I've been carrying around with me.

All the thoughts clogging up my brain lay scattered, forgotten somewhere three blocks behind us. Ecstatic, I lift my hands up in the air and start laughing, my hair and cardigan whooshing behind me like a cape. I turn around on the seat and see skid marks and smoke coming up from them. I turn excitedly to Jeremy, his face focused and calm, yet looking more alive than I've ever seen him and a bubble of pure happiness swells up inside me.

"Whoa!" I shout out into the night, my hands up in the air again as we accelerate through the tunnel, leaving Bormla behind us.

I hear his low, rumbling laugh as I sink back into the bucket seat. I don't know what I was expecting when I said I wanted to go for a drive but whatever it was, this is better. 

It feels like time has completely stopped, like there is nothing else in the world but us and the car. The wind and the stars. No time, no people, no hospitals, no disappointments. I close my eyes and let myself believe that this is true, even if just for one moment.

Jeremy starts humming next to me, his low baritone soothing my soul. Feeling the car slowing down, I open my eyes and find that we're at a large roundabout. I don't recognize the place, but I don't really care. We get onto another bypass and we're off again, flying at God knows how many kilometres per hour, the wheels not even touching the ground. Finally, we take a sharp turn to the right, tires screeching all the way, and Jeremy guides the Porsche into a parking area.

He drives past a lone, colourful kiosk and a few cars that are parked haphazardly over the gravel until we reach a relatively deserted area where Jeremy parks the Porsche facing a hedge of wild bushes. It's very dark and the bushes go up higher than my head as I sit in the low seat but I can hear and smell the sea.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Baħar iċ-Ċagħaq."

The name sounds vaguely familiar. As the roof glides back over our heads, I wonder whether I've ever been here before and then I remember. Sosa and I had spent a day at the waterpark during my first summer in Malta. But we can't be here for the park tonight, surely.

"Why?" I ask curiously.

"For ice cream," he replies as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"We just had ice cream at home!"

"First of all, that was almost two hours ago," he says indignantly. "And secondly, it was sorbet. This is Tony's. It's completely different." 

I laugh instinctively. "Is this another Maltese thing? Like your obsession with pastizzi?" I say removing my safety belt and tightening my cardigan around me.

"Yes. And if you remember correctly, I was right then too," he snaps as he gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.

I hobble out after him and manage to shut the passenger door just before the car flashes. I look around the parking area for him and realise he's already at the neon-lit kiosk.

"Two chocolate and vanilla ice cream with banana, Brazil nuts, a wafer, caramel syrup and a flake on top," he orders while I gape at the colourful display holding every sweet, fruit and nut imaginable.

The dumpy woman in the truck hands me my ice cream and I stare at it in wonder.

"It's so big!"

She chuckles but Jeremy glowers at me, his jaw stern, his mouth set firmly in an unamused scowl. I smile back at the kind-looking woman, mumble a quick thank you and take my ice cream gratefully.

He takes his own overflowing cup, hops off the platform and walks towards the shore without a single word. I follow him past the bushes onto a deserted pebble beach where we sit down and dig into our ice cream. It is very quiet save for the gentle whooshing of the waves and the occasional roar of a car driving along the coast road.

"Damn it, you're right!" I say, scraping off the last bits of ice cream with my plastic spoon.

"I know," Jeremy replies instantly, with no hint of humour in his voice. "And watch your mouth. It's the third time you cursed tonight."

I make a face at him, then retort, "How do you know? I haven't even said what you're right about!"

He gulps down another mouthful of ice cream and says, "Because I'm always right, Sparky."

"You're always annoying! I don't know why I bother with you," I huff, shifting my empty cup back and forth between my hands.

He looks at me, impressed that I finished the whole thing, then reaches over to me to take my empty cup. I inch backwards slightly as he leans over but I still get the full dose of his scent, his cologne mixed with his honey-sweet breath, soothing and intoxicating at the same time.

I contemplate him as he stands up and walks over to the bin to dispose of the cups. I watch his face, his movements. His nature is guarded again, not like when he was driving. His eyes are distant and mysterious, his face inexpressive, his body rigid as he sits back down next to me. He looks comfortable yet preoccupied at the same time. Like there's something at the back of his mind.

"So, what's your story, Mr Cordina?" He looks over his shoulder questioningly, the usual raise of the right brow present. My fingers itch to smooth it out. "You look different when you're driving."

The muscles around his jaw tense up. His ice-blue eyes cloud over as they travel over the black sea. He rests his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers in front of him. I know I'm venturing into another sore subject but I go on. I want to know more about him.

No. I need to know more about him. 

It's like the closer I get to him, the more mysterious and intriguing he is to me. And tonight, in the quiet of the secluded bay, with nothing but the sea and the stars watching, I feel more intrigued by him than ever.

"When you were driving," I go on bravely, "you looked... serene, like a man who has the world under his thumb. I don't know how to explain it. It was like you're above the laws of physics. Like you can't even be bothered to be cautious."

Jeremy doesn't acknowledge me or my words. He just stares ahead into the darkness, still as a statue. Then, after at least a full minute, he says slowly, "I made one mistake too many, Sparky."

"Just one?" I ask trying to lighten the mood.

"This one... this one stayed to haunt me. It made me realise I'm not invincible."

I wait for him to go on, but he doesn't. I can tell he's reprimanding himself in his mind for whatever it is he's done.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Jer," I say, my heart aching for him, my fingers still itching to cup his face. I remember what my grandmother said a few weeks ago and I realise, in this moment more than ever, just how right she was. He didn't have it easy. And whatever happened is still affecting him.

He finally looks at me, his eyes boring searchingly into mine as though trying to find the answer to his brooding thoughts. Then he shakes his head slightly and says, "Not like this. I can't take this one back. I tried and made it worse."