The line in the road is bright in her headlights. She imagines crossing it. The car would drift over, the wheels rattling on the cat’s eyes. She would drift across, and after one minute, or two, or five, a car or van or lorry would zip over a rise in front of her, and before she had a chance to swerve, she would crumple into it.

She stays steady. She listens to Radio 4. The voices of serious people fill the car. She watches the road. If she went far enough and fast enough, she might sail over the edge, silently, and come to rest gently in the treetops.

Spring approaches. The leaves begin to unfurl. It’s something Dillon must have seen before. He must have. But it seems new to him this year how strange it is that they lie curled, whole, inside those buds. He films them on his phone as they flicker in a faint wind, turning as he touches them with a finger, and wonders if he’s the first person to do that.

In Media Studies, they are making a magazine cover. Rose sits two desks over, but they don’t speak, not in school. As Dillon works, he stares at his screen. He can just catch his own reflection. When he clenches his jaw his face is squarer than it used to be. He thinks it is. It’s hard to know.

‘Good stuff,’ says Mr Bradman.

The teacher leans forward over Dillon’s desk. He’s a big man, and his presence fills the air around him. He seems young, but he also looks old – his body is thick and muscular, running slightly to fat, and his face is meaty and stubbled and red-cheeked.

He scrolls around in the image Dillon is working on. Dillon follows the cursor as he clicks through the layers of his file, but half an eye is on the big hand moving deftly beside him.

‘How old are you, sir?’ asks Dillon suddenly.

Mr Bradman gives him a look. His face is somehow nearer to Dillon’s than Dillon thought. It’s big, like the rest of him. His hair is wispy, light blond and thinning.

‘Twenty-six,’ he says, his eyes bright with amusement. ‘Was that what you expected?’

Dillon shrugs.

Mr Bradman points at the magazine cover.

‘Did you take this picture in the same place Rose did?’

Dillon nods.

‘It’s good. And good to help each other out like that.’

Dillon feels his face redden. Mr Bradman suggests he should let the image overlap the title. Dillon wonders if he should try shaving again.

In April, Mr Bradman announces a visitor. A friend of Mrs Jackson’s. A magazine editor.

‘This is a fantastic opportunity,’ he says. There is something puppyish about him despite his size.

The class don’t seem bothered. But Dillon is.

‘Will she know about the film industry?’

Mr Bradman shrugs. ‘Yes, a bit.’

‘What do you mean, a bit?’