‘Perfect timing, ladies,’ she says, reaching across the counter to pluck a neon orange Post-it note from the stack. ‘Dev, do you want to do this suicide by Queen’s Park?’

‘Sure,’ she says, walking over to her and taking the Post-it note.

‘Esen, you can do this one,’ Deborah says, plucking off another one.

‘Two?’ Esen frowns. ‘I know it’s Saturday, but it’s busy tonight.’

‘I know. This one isn’t far, though.’

‘Where?’ we ask in unison.

‘Across the road.’

‘Where across the road?’ I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the door to see if I can see Poppy.

I can’t.

‘The Komedia,’ Deborah says and the floor immediately turns to water beneath my feet.

‘Who?’ I ask, my voice noticeably less steady.

Deborah looks up, her gaze narrowing suspiciously before she peers at the Post-it note.

Don’t say Poppy Morgan.

Don’t say Poppy Morgan.

Don’t say Poppy Morgan.

‘Toby Powell,’ she says.

‘Toby Powell,’ I repeat, so relieved that I have to swallow a laugh.

‘Homeless kid,’ Deborah adds solemnly. ‘Froze to death.’

My relief swiftly hardens to guilt as I look at Dev and Esen and wonder if they’re thinking the same thing.

We didn’t even see him.

We must have walked straight past him.

‘Are you OK?’ I hear Deborah ask.

I look across the shop at the counter and shrug when I realise that she’s talking to me. ‘Fine.’

‘You’re behaving very strangely.’

‘Am I?’

I feel fourteen again, like I’ve returned home after my first proper kiss (Danielle Lawson, at the bus stop outside Morrisons – she ignored me the next day at school) to find my parents on the sofa in the living room watching Chupke Chupke and I have to act like everything is normal when it feels anything but.

I shrug again, hoping it comes off as nonchalant rather than surly, but she frowns.

‘What’s going on? Did something happen with Alice Anderson?’

I’d forgotten about Alice Anderson.

Was that really tonight?

It feels like two weeks ago.

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I just took her down to the beach to Charon.’

‘I know, but did something happen after that?’

How does she know? I think, sneaking a look at Dev and Esen.

‘She’s fine,’ Esen tells Deborah, plucking a piece of fluff off her coat then walking to the counter and taking the Post-it note. ‘Come on, Ash. Let’s find Toby Powell before he wanders off.’

‘Why don’t you go?’ Deborah looks past her at me. ‘I want to talk to Ash.’

She knows, I think, looking desperately at Esen.

She knows about Poppy.

She knows.

She knows.

She knows.

‘We won’t be long—’ Esen starts to say, but Deborah interrupts with a sharp smile.

‘I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling this one by yourself, aren’t you, Miss Budak?’