‘You’re here!’ Georgia said, backing up as a soggy towel swept by.

‘It’s a silver Audi A3,’ Wendy explained. ‘It’s parked to the left of the front gate. I’ve also seen a photographer and a couple of journalists hovering about looking for quotes. Press are not supposed to approach you if you’re under sixteen, but that doesn’t always stop them.’

‘Press …’ Georgia repeated, stressed as she ran hands through damp hair. ‘I’ve had two hours’ sleep. I’m a total mess. I don’t have clothes, unless I go home first.’

‘Take a couple of deep breaths,’ Wendy urged. ‘This is my job. I can guide you through, OK?’

‘OK,’ Georgia said.

Georgia dug down into her bag and spent the last minutes of school brushing her hair and fixing it in a ponytail. She’d normally have met up with Maya, but she was worried about getting mobbed by journalists or more kids wanting selfies if she waited around.

She moved fast when the bell went, a heart-in-mouth skid on the puddled floor as she exited the locker room, while simultaneously texting Maya: Gotta meet someone. Speak laters.

Journalists would expect her to use the school’s main doors, so Georgia cut down a set of fire stairs and exited through a swing door behind the year-twelve and thirteen common room. A couple of Rolf’s mates said hi as Georgia cut past, up a wheelchair ramp and through a side gate.

A man outside the gate shouted from behind, ‘I just dropped fifty pounds.’

Georgia’s head shot around instinctively, falling into the photographer’s trap.

‘Beautiful, Georgia!’ the photographer said, camera snapping rapidly as he closed in with a big Nikon. ‘Give us another smile.’

Georgia was tempted to flip the photographer off but realised that would make a better photo. The silver Audi was parked on the yellow zigzags in front of the school gate, and the passenger door flew open.

‘Hop in,’ Wendy said, pressing the start button.

Georgia threw her backpack in the footwell and settled into a cream-leather racing seat.

Front tyres squealed as they pulled off, sending kids scattering. Georgia glanced back as a photographer chased the disappearing car.

‘There’s a baseball cap in the glovebox,’ Wendy said. ‘Put it on and look down until we’ve cleared the school traffic.’

‘Why does anyone care?’ Georgia said irritably. ‘It’s just me jumping over a brass rail.’

Wendy laughed as Georgia studied the car. She’d imagined muddy floor mats and a drab socialist at the wheel. But the car was new, with leather seats and Bang & Olufsen speakers and Wendy was also well-trimmed, in Gucci watch and pricey-looking heels.