On their way to Luke’s house they listen to the radio. Luke sings and taps the steering wheel. Lenny joins in, not knowing any of the words. Lizzie is pleased they’re not talking. She doesn’t want to know why Luke decided to be a teacher, or where he grew up. She doesn’t want to know that he has a mum and dad who love him, or an annoying little sister. She doesn’t want him to be whole and real. She needs him to stay patchy and translucent. The more real he becomes, the more real she needs to be.

The car pulls up in front of a neat block of flats and Luke announces they’re home. He sounds nervous, fumbles with the key, and when they finally get inside, he stands with his hands by his sides looking awkward. The flat is spotless and smells of cleaning products. Lizzie knows that if she looks at him his face will admit he’d planned for this outcome.

Wolfie comes bounding out of the kitchen and launches himself at Luke. Lenny’s eyes bulge in delight and, within seconds, he’s rolling around on the floor with the dog. Luke grins down at him and Wolfie, then casts his eyes sideways at Lizzie, who feels her pulse quicken.

There is an attraction between them. It’s undeniable, but it’s science. Just science, she tells herself. Some people are drawn to one another like magnets. It’s not love or anything like that, it’s pheromones, the phantom scent of a stronger immune system. A subconscious hunt for good mating material. It’s not personal. There’s no magic, no spark. It’s all about survival and procreation.

Lizzie isn’t looking for a mate. She’s not looking for anything at all. She needs to tell Luke this, and tell him now, before it goes too far. She bumps into Wolfie, who sniffs at her tentatively. Does he remember her, from the Beacon?

‘Hello, Wolfie, nice to see you again,’ she says formally, putting out her hand for him to sniff.

Dogs have over three hundred million olfactory receptors in their nose, compared to the six million humans possess. The part of their brain devoted to analysing smells is forty times bigger than humans’.

Lizzie wonders what Wolfie’s superior nose can detect. Her rose-oil perfume and bathroom bleach must be obvious, but what about the layer under that? Blood and bone? Can he smell her marrow? Her white blood cells? Her endocrine system? She considers the perfume of fear. Is it tailored to each individual? Would Lenny’s smell of spiders and slugs and thin iron needles? The idea of never seeing his dad again? And what about Lizzie? Does her fear smell of her shedding womb and Tess’s hairspray? Of Greg’s leather belt?