While they cuddle under the duvet, their neighbours suffer from tinnitus

She loved the way he managed to bring an air of masculinity to applying moisturiser: slapping his palms on his chest, the kneading of his own face, treating his nose with no respect.

He loved the way she ignored her allergies.

"But I love almond croissants, she said, taking a huge bite, a gust of icing sugar pluming the air.

Her nut allergy was mild. He would have stopped her if he thought she was at risk. She wasn't one of those people whose neck puffs up like an adder when someone opens a packet of KP in an adjacent county. Supposing she consumed a whole bag of peanuts ' then she'd be in trouble ' but if she had a bite of Snickers, thinking it was Mars, then she probably wouldn't even go to casualty. She'd just end up looking uncomfortable, distracted, rereading the same page of her book over and over again.

As they sat around the breakfast table ' he read the Review, she read the Sport ' they would occasionally glance up at each other to get a fresh waft of the love that stunk out the house and kept their friends away. Occasionally, she would look up and smile at his necklace of poorly absorbed Nivea. While he would look up and grin as she tried to ignore her gently swelling windpipe: her lips pouting slightly, chin raised to stretch out her throat.

Saturdays are the best for being in love. The TV is terrible, the shopping centre unbearable and the pubs are heaving with football mongs. This leaves, in the dewy eyes of Markland and Charlie, only one other option: the day trip.

It was gone eleven and they still had not decided where to go. It was not sunny enough for the beach and they had already been to the Pencil Museum twice last month. They particularly enjoyed an exhibit entitled: "Secret Wartime Pencils.

"How's about the brewery?

"Adnams?

"Yeah.

"Great.

"But who's gonna drive?

"I'll do the gears if you steer.

"You're on.

He slugged at a Golden Jackal; she slurped at a syrupy half of Tally-Ho! Two locals at the bar eyed them wearily as they held hands across the table.

One of the men had an overbite and a moustache. After taking a sip of beer, his brow furrowed and he swallowed with some difficutly. He held the pint up to the light, tilting it, checking for clues before calling the barmaid over.

"You've left cleaning fluid in the pipes, I can taste it.

"They haven't been cleaned since the weekend.

The man looked at her as he took another sip. He bared his teeth in disgust.

"Well then, it must've gone bad, he said.

"It's the same barrel you've been drinking all afternoon.

Marcland and Charlie recognised the situation.

Charlie whispered to Marcland: "we should never have held hands ' look what we've done.

"And I was twiddling your pinky ring ' that can't have helped.

They quiclkly vacated the snug and snuck out into the garden, leaving the locals to their love-soured beer.

"Why do you think that always happens? she asked.

"Because we are absolutely sodden with love, he said, admiring Charlie's thin ale-moustache.

"I know that but, she stopped to lick away her facial hair, "what I mean is: other people we know claim to be in love ' Martha and George even got married ' and yet they don't spark a fit of retching old people in the Marks and Spencer's food hall simply by sharing sushi in a cutesy manner.

"They're not nearly as in love as we are.

"Are we that sickening?

"Nah. We don't even snog in public.

"Except that one time, remember when we smooched in Heigham Park?

"And all the children went momentarily blind?

"Yeah.

"Yeah.

Charlie chewed on her lower lip.

"I'm about to say it, she said.

"I know you are.

"I can't help it.

"I don't want you to help it, he said, turning his left ear towards her lips and leaning in.

"Oh shit, she said, "I'm going to say it¦

He leant closer.

"I love you, she said.

The drive home was fine. There were no clunking gear changes and, often, Marcland did not even have to say when or which gear he wanted her to change to, Charlie just knew.

It was on Look East three days later. That's how they found out. Usually Marcland and Charlie like to do impressions of the banal stories which make up the local TV news:

"In Norwich today, East Anglia's only Jewish redhead Charlie Merzbacher, was seen taking four hits from her Briconyl inhaler before and after her morning jog. We spoke to Dr Raithatha and he said that although the recommended dosage was two pulls, he felt that the risk to Charlie's health was negligible.

"St. Benedict's road is being considered for renaming today after Saint Marcland gave a two-pound coin to an old man, known by locals as El Grande, collecting for the Salvation Army. But Marcland's good works did not end there. No, the two-pound coin was so large and unexpected that it did not actually fit in the slot at the top of the money-shaker. Saint Marcland searched his divine pockets and gave the man two single pound coins instead.

But today, they didn't get around to telling any such stories. The news reader looked unusually serious:

"The water supply that feeds Adnam's brewery has been poisoned. This was the conclusion today of Police Detectives investigating seven separate incidents across Norfolk. In the Rose Valley Tavern in Norfolk, regular Broadside drinker Graham Hogg collapsed over the pool table and was taken immediately to N and N hospital where he is said to be stable.

"Agh! said Marcland.

"Eek! said Charlie.

"We did that.

"We can't of.

"We did.

"I said it. It's my fault, Charlie said.

"It's not your fault that we've fallen in the L word.

"I know but it's my fault for articulating it.

"What's wrong with that? I'll say it now¦ I love you. Look, I said it too.

"Marcland!?

"I do. I love you.

"I know, I know, she stopped speaking for a moment and kissed the grinning Marcland on the nose, "thank you, I heart you too but we can't just go around shouting about it ' look at the effect it had on poor old Adnams!

"We're not shouting about it, he said.

"No but - 

"We're speaking.

"That's true but - 

"In our own front room. And we're sitting down, he said bouncing on his seat for a second.

"Okay, okay.

"I love you, he said.

She put one hand up the back of his blue jumper and the other over his mouth.

"Wy wuv woo, he said.

She smiled one of those smiles that can start a gas leak.

"I love you too, she said.

"I love you more.

"Ooh, you're living dangerously, she said.

"I know.

"Well alright then, I love you with raisins and artichoke hearts sprinkled on top and a flag stuck in the summit saying: Charlie Merzbacher for Marcland Porter 4 Eva, even if ' especially if ' the ice caps melt and we have to live in a canal boat that is no longer really a canal boat because it has broken its moorings and floated out of the canal with the rapidly rising sea level.

Their top-floor flat overlooked Chapelfield gardens. They had a small balcony from which they could watch the skag addicts shooting up in the bandstand and the hippies playing hackysack on the grass. It was from this vantage point that they heard the sirens. At least it started off with sirens but soon the sirens were drowned out by a flushing sound. And then they forgot about listening because of what they were seeing: a market stall ' the hog roast market stall ' being carried aloft on the front of a wave, rushing down past the Theatre Royal. As the water tumbled through the street below they watched open-mouthed at the floating flotsam of cars, shoppers, organic vegetables and fresh dead fish.

"Well, Charlie said.

"Not ideal, Marcland agreed.

"Not perfect.

"Nope.

"The water level is rising at an alarming rate, she observed

"Alarming.

They watched, waited. Their neighbour, Mrs. Green, from the flat below screamed as the torrent carried her out through her window.

"Where's this canal boat then eh? Marcland asked.

Charlie laughed and gave him a little hug for his sense of humour in the face of adversity. (A lorry jackknifed on the A47)

The water, now only a foot below them, spat up at their feet as it rushed past.
Looking up the street, they saw an enormous oak tree floating slowly towards them with a mast sticking out of the top of its branches.

"Weird, Charlie said.

As the tree got gradually nearer they realised that the whole thing had been a trick of perspective. It was in fact a large oak tree and, behind it, a twenty-metre yacht. They took steps back into their lounge as the tree approached. The water was starting to plane across their Turkish rug. The bottom of the tree trunk struck their balcony hard, snapping some of the iron beams but not tearing the balcony off entirely. The tree stayed wedged, caught in a mangled mess of intricate wrought-iron.

The yacht, following behind, casually pulled into dock alongside the trunk. Charlie and Marcland saw their opportunity: stepping from the remnants of their balcony onto the tree trunk-cum-gangway and in turn, pulling themselves onto the boat. The yacht was made almost entirely from fibreglass-encapsulated granidillio hardwood.

They walked the length of the deck, hand in hand, admiring. At the front of the boat they found an open hatch.

Marcland pulled the hatch closed and was pleased to hear nothing. The master bedroom was completely sound proof. They lay back on their four-poster bed.

"Should we feel bad?

"For what?

"Well, we did just watch Mrs. Green from downstairs drown.

"Oh yeah. Marcland sounded a bit sad. "Mrs. Green was nice.

Marcland's brow furrowed, his lower lip protruded. Charlie looked at him.

"Oh no, my little cob nut, don't cry!

He started to blink. Charlie quickly rolled over and started tickling his sides.

"It's alright! Don't worry! Mwah! Mwah! She kissed him on his forehead, his shoulder, even his armpit.

(In South Wales, a boy contracted bird flu.)

"Agh, stop it you filth box! Marcland laughed and smiled.

Charlie straddled him, pleased with herself.

"Knew you couldn't stay sad for long.

He sat up and swung his arms around her waist.

"I love you, he said.

(A panda died.)

"I love you too.