She liked how he whistled around their house whenever he stayed over, really loudly and cheerfully, and made scrambled egg for breakfast – tons of it, with piles of toast, as if he was used to feeding an army. He was generous too, thinking nothing of leaving a large tip for the waiting staff if they went out, or slipping her and Jack a tenner each if they wanted to see something at the cinema. If he was a colour, he’d be something classy and cool, she thought. A charcoal grey, maybe, or a dark red, like wine. You could trust someone who was that colour. You could feel enchanted by them too.

Oh, it was torture, trying to keep a lid on her feelings! He had picked her up from babysitting the other week because Mum hated driving in the dark, and she’d even found herself appreciating the way he drove, confident and decisive; noting favourably to herself how nice his car smelled compared to Mum’s. She had leaned back in the seat as the dark world outside rushed past them, the street lights blurring into streaky lines, and she’d imagined for a crazy, heady moment that George was her lover. Wondered what he would do if she pulled her shirt off over her head and offered her bare breasts to him. Here I am. How do you like me now? Was this how it felt to be in love?

Of course she hadn’t done any of those things – as if! She cringed every time she thought about it now, but at the time her heart had galloped so loud at the images she’d conjured up that she’d half-expected him to notice. How she would die if he noticed!

The sobering fact, however, was that he was Mum’s boyfriend. Also he made Mum super-happy, like singing-in-the-shower happy, which she hadn’t been for years. So for Izzie to be having these tumultuous, crazed thoughts left her feeling confused and disloyal, as if the ground was tilting beneath her feet. Her friends might think it was all a big joke, but she was starting to feel weird about being in the same room with George. And yet it was so hard to stay away from him.