She liked Ted. He was like a grandfather. She didn’t know what a grandfather was supposed to be like but she guessed the job description would have something along the lines of the following: be kind, generous and funny and let them do what their parents say no to. He’d taken her to the pub and let her have a sip of his beer. Her dad knew where they’d been but assumed it was for crisps and a coke, while he and Kelly went running. They were always running. It was tiring just being around them. People their age were obsessed with eating healthily and exercising. It puzzled her.

She thought that Kelly looked amazing anyway and didn’t need to bother. Older people always talked about how hard it was to stay in shape as you got older. It was boring.

Satisfied with her rucksack, she went through to the kitchen to see what was in the fridge. Her dad bought all her favourites and kept the cupboards stocked with chocolate biscuits, crisps and fizzy drinks. She’d heard Kelly telling him that it wasn’t wise for his daughter to start bad habits at her age, and worried that they’d both pay the consequences later in life. Josie had kicked back at her father for that and – admittedly – made it difficult for Kelly at times to have the access to his time that she wanted.

That all changed last Christmas. It was the first time that Josie had seen Kelly not in complete control and she’d softened towards her. They all missed Wendy. The funeral had been horrendous. Josie knew that Kelly still kept her mum’s ashes in a plastic urn on her wooden mantelpiece above the fire. She’d secretly opened it once, when she’d been alone in Kelly’s house. She couldn’t really explain why: if it was to be close to the lovely older woman who’d been so generous and kind to her; or if it was macabre curiosity to find out if cremation got rid of everything. When she opened the lid, it stuck a little and a cloud of ash had puffed out, settling on her jumper. She’d been mortified and quickly put the lid back on, pushing it firmly. It was the smell she’d never forget: it smelled of musty old concrete and she’d nearly been sick. From then on, she’d remembered Wendy as she was that Christmas Day: funny, loving and protective. It was a good place to be: under Wendy’s wing. The absence of it was felt keenly and Josie had asked Kelly for a photograph of her to have in her bedroom.