‘Can you come with me to pick up the girls?’ I said. ‘Now?’

‘Not really. I do actually have other things to do, like I said.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Meeting someone.’

‘Who?’

She looked down. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you for ages, but you’re never there. Don’t worry. We can do that another time.’ She looked at her phone. ‘My thing’s at five. So I guess I could walk with you for a bit.’

‘What’s your thing?’

Izzy sighed. ‘Look, my stuff is much less consequential. I don’t mean that in a passive-aggressive way. Your life went to shit over the past few years. Mine’s fine. Seriously, don’t worry. And do let me worry about you. I actually think you’re being groomed by some older man and that, after everything you’ve been through, you’re incredibly vulnerable to that kind of thing. I remember how quickly you fell for that boy who gave you the wrong number. Are you honestly telling me it’s nothing like that?’

‘Nothing like that at all. Tell me about you.’

‘Tomorrow.’

I gave her a hard look. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It’s rubbish being shut out. OK. Can you come to Manor Park School? Izzy, I’m sorry. Let me tell you because it’s really not what you think.’

‘Really tell me?’ she said. ‘Now? The truth?’

‘Right now.’

‘Go on then.’

I took off my blazer, stuffed it into my bag and put a hoodie on instead.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Promise you won’t think I’m mad. I mean, think what you like, but promise you won’t hate me for being mad.’

I wasn’t looking at her but I knew she was smiling.

‘I promise I won’t hate you,’ she said, taking my hand, and I risked a glance at her and then stopped for a hug. Her hugs were small, but surprisingly powerful.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’m not meeting anyone. Seriously. Not anyone real. I go to that little room at Beachview on my own. I’ve been going there after school for ages and just sitting and talking to Mum in my head. It’s really calming. Almost like meditating.’

She took my hand again and squeezed it. ‘Oh, sweetie,’ she said. ‘But what about –’

I nodded. ‘And then I discovered that something happened in there once. In that very room. There was a boy of about our age. Joe Simpson. A different Joe from the one who ghosted me,’ I added quickly. ‘Obviously. He was last seen there twenty years ago. And then he vanished. No one ever saw him again. I’ve become … well, I guess I’ve become obsessed. I’m desperate to work out what happened to him. I have to. I hate it that it’s an unsolved mystery. I work on it every afternoon.’