She didn’t even see me. Adara, who I’ve known since the first day of school when she complimented my Elmo lunchbox and said it matched her Cookie Monster one. Adara, who was the first person I told when I got my period and was the first person to tell me that I didn’t just think Rachel Boyd was pretty, I had a crush on her. Adara who has always been there – always – and isn’t any more. Actually, she is still there, isn’t she? It’s me that’s gone, I realise, as I stand there, on the pavement outside Boots, watching her and Mark until I lose sight of them. I suddenly feel very, very alone, but then Dev is there and when I tell her who Adara is – who she was, I guess, to me, anyway – she insists that we sit on the beach and wait for the snow. It’s almost eight thirty by the time we get back to the bookshop, but if Deborah’s wondering where we’ve been, she doesn’t say, just welcomes us with a nod while Esen lies on the sofa with her arms crossed and her eyes closed. If she hears the bell over the door announcing our arrival, she doesn’t stir and I’m tempted to click my fingers at her.

‘How did it go?’ Deborah asks from behind the counter, without looking up from whatever she’s writing.

She’s changed since the last time I saw her, into a neat black-linen shirt-dress, her cropped hair covered with an intricately twisted leopard-skin headwrap that sits in a generous knot on the top of her head.

I didn’t realise that leopard skin was part of the dress code, but then I don’t think she’s ever left the shop.

‘Good,’ Dev tells her with a nod. ‘We went shopping.’

That makes her look up. ‘Not more make-up? That money I gave you was for clothes, Miss Devlin.’

‘No make-up.’ Dev smiles brightly. ‘Just something for Ash to wear that isn’t those jeans and that hoodie.’

‘Very wise,’ Deborah mutters, looking back down at her notebook. ‘Make sure you wash them first.’

I almost laugh because that’s exactly what my mother would have said. I’ve never understood it, but she has a thing about washing clothes before you wear them, even if they’re brand new.

We do as we’re told, heading upstairs into the kitchen. I’ve never been in here, I realise, as Dev starts taking everything we’ve just bought in town out of the bags. It’s a bit bigger than my kitchen and just as clean, but a stark, hospital clean that, like with the bedroom, makes me wonder if anyone ever comes in here.

We’re taking the tags off and putting it all in the washing machine when we hear Deborah’s voice again.

‘Dev?’ she calls up the stairs.