‘Green tea, anyone?’ said Celeste, who had a dreamy air about her, as if she existed on a high spiritual plane at all times. Before anyone could answer, Thistle started running a pencil back and forth along the metal radiator, leaving bumpy, scribbly lines as the lead banged up and down the uneven edges.

The noise set Maggie’s teeth on edge. ‘Oh,’ she said politely. ‘Do you want him doing that? He’s—’

‘He’s so creative,’ Celeste sighed, interrupting her. What was she, late twenties? Thirty, maybe? She had a bindi between her eyes and thick black eyeliner in a Cleopatra style, and appeared to be smiling with pride. ‘He just loves music. Doesn’t he, Wilf?’

Maggie goggled. That was music, was it? And wait – had Celeste just said Wilf? Will had always strongly resisted nicknames back when she’d known him, perhaps a hang-up from having been called ‘Willy’ by a group of girls all the way through secondary school. Feeling vaguely hysterical, she eyed him with interest, watching for a flicker of irritation. But Will – Wilf, rather – didn’t appear irritated in the slightest. In fact he was smiling lovingly back at his waifish partner and saying, ‘Yeah, he’s a proper little muso. Loves expressing himself’ to Maggie and Amelia, as if having someone scrawl noisily all over your radiator was a well-respected form of culture. Then he turned to Amelia. ‘Hey, so tell me about you. What are you into?’

‘Well,’ said Amelia, deliberately not looking at Maggie, ‘I’m quite political. And I, you know, care about the world. Like, I stopped using plastic bags and that, because it’s just so wrong, filling up the planet with bits of plastic that will hang around for millions of years? And . . .’ She had run out of steam. ‘Yeah. So I’m into that sort of thing,’ she said.

Oh God, it was painful, it really was, seeing how desperate Amelia was for Will’s approval. How she blossomed at his smile of agreement, his murmured ‘Absolutely.’

Come on, Will, thought Maggie. Give her more than that. Tell her how great she is. She’s waited all these years to hear those words from you. But Amelia was already speaking again.

‘I hope this isn’t, like, super fangirl-ish or whatever, but I really love your work,’ she went on, emboldened. Enthusiasm shone from her eyes. ‘I’ve actually picked Photography as one of my GCSE options, I can’t wait to start the course. So I’d love some tips from you or—’

‘Sure, sure,’ Will said distractedly, as Rain flung herself against his leg and demanded to be picked up. ‘Hey, watch it, tiger!’ he laughed, not noticing that Amelia had stopped talking.