A moment later, I hear a pained sound and realise it’s me, groaning at my mother that I’m awake as I force myself to peel open my eyes. Even that hurts, my eyelashes stuck together and my eyelids so heavy it takes more effort than I am capable of not to close them again.

No one’s there, though.

No Mum.

No Rosh on her bed, reading a book.

It’s just me.

It isn’t until I kick off my duvet that I realise that it isn’t my duvet at all, but a tartan wool blanket I don’t recognise.

Wait.

This isn’t my bed, it’s a sofa I don’t recognise, either.

Why am I dressed?

I press my hands to my chest and find something familiar. Leather, smooth then creased around my elbows and smooth again over my shoulders. My fingers catch on something cold. Sharp. The zip. It’s my jacket. I bring my arm up and press my nose into the sleeve.

Home.

That thing I can only smell when I’m not there.

I didn’t even know that my house had a smell until the first time I went away without my family. I didn’t go far, just a school trip to Stratford-upon-Avon, but I opened my holdall and everything smelt like my flat. Not just washing powder, but my pillowcase. My towel. The saucepan of dhal that always seems to be on the stove, even on Christmas Day. The bottle of Estée Lauder Beautiful on my mother’s dressing table that she only wears to weddings and midnight mass.

I close my eyes and inhale again and immediately feel better. Steadier. Everything feels a little more solid as I slip my hand under my jacket to find the warmth of my hoodie. That makes me feel better as well because yes, this is definitely my hoodie. This might not be my blanket, but this is my hoodie and my leather jacket. I kick the rest of the blanket away to find that I’m wearing my jeans. Definitely my jeans. Black. Slightly grey at the knees and beginning to come away at the seams between my thighs.

And these are my DMs.

But why am I wearing my DMs on someone’s sofa?

Where am I?

With that, the fog clears and I’m suddenly, painfully awake.

I sit up so quickly, the sofa lets out a curmudgeonly creak. ‘Ashana! You’re awake,’ I hear someone say and look up to find a girl sitting on what looks like a shop counter. There’s a lamp next to her, the only source of light in the room, and I see then that it’s the girl from outside the mini-mart.

The one in the teddy-bear coat.

She looks the same. Small. Dwarfed by her coat, her hair almost fluorescent white in the dim light. Then she smiles and that’s the same as well.