‘You go the other side,’ he says to Rose.

They walk, awkwardly. It’s not too bad.

‘Bye, Rose,’ shouts Jack from across the yard. His voice is hoarse and mocking.

‘Ignore him,’ says the man.

‘It’s OK,’ says Rose. ‘I used to live with him.’

He stops. ‘Are you Rose? The Instagram girl?’

‘I think so,’ she says.

‘You think so?’

In the dark, she blushes. ‘I’m definitely Rose. I think I’m the Instagram girl.’

‘You know my ex, then,’ the man says. Then, ‘Will Bradman? He thinks you’re great.’

Rose is about to shake her head, but she pauses.

‘Mr Bradman?’ she asks.

The man seems reassured by her reaction.

‘Do you like him?’

‘He’s a great teacher,’ says Rose, dutifully.

The moon is out, a sliver cut out of the black sky. The three of them shuffle along the road.

‘He was my teacher too,’ says Adam.

Caz has started to stay round a couple of nights a week. When they wake together the bed smells warm, soft with a night’s quiet breathing. Graeme is heavy too, and the mattress shifts and creaks with their combined weight. His curtains are not thick enough, and the light spills onto the cracked ceiling.

Downstairs, she makes tea in her pyjamas. They have pineapples on them. The mugs have brown stains at the bottom. The fridge is old and makes a heavy, rattling hum. Sitting at the kitchen table, they each look down. Her feet are cold, so she lifts them onto his. He says nothing, but looks up briefly.

She doesn’t know exactly what she feels. Maybe she has several feelings, all at once, none of them quite compatible with the others. But it’s nice to put your feet on someone else’s feet.

Caz gets to know Aaron in a different way. She sees him between things. Not there for a careful meeting, soaking up the attention for an hour, or twenty minutes. She sees him bored, aimless. She sees him brushing his teeth.

He walks with skinny, knock-kneed fragility.

She sees Rose too, but rarely. She’s always just left, or is on her way somewhere. She has a top cropped high on her skinny midriff, and Caz is touched by the mindless grace of her. She’s no older than she was, but she’s not in hiding anymore. She has a strappy dress, and dirty trainers. She has a shapeless hoody, and skinny jeans.

She looks like a normal teenager.

It’s Rose’s eighteenth birthday. Graeme asks if she wants a party. They’ve never had a party, but he always asks. And she says no, as usual.

Instead they have a meeting. Rose, Graeme and Caz. They have forms to fill in. Eighteen is the start of adulthood, the end of being in care.

She’s on her own now.

‘You can stay as long as you want,’ says Graeme.

Caz has done this before. So has Graeme. You get a feel for the chances. She knows Graeme wouldn’t offer this if he didn’t trust that it might work out.