I was on my way to French, so Ms Duke and I would walk all the way there together and I’d arrive with her. Quite the teacher’s pet.

‘I am actually doing better,’ I said, and I looked her in the eye and smiled to prove I meant it. The high-ponytail girl went into an English classroom as we passed. I carried on swishing my hair around. ‘I guess … Well, I suppose a lot of it’s Sasha’s baby. Just having a new human being on his way is the most brilliant thing. And also it …’ My voice started to falter.

Shit. So much for being all sorted. Five seconds of agreeing that I’m fine and I fall apart. I pressed on. ‘It’s beginning to feel like this is just how it is now. Mum can’t come back, and if Dad tried we wouldn’t let him in. I can see now that Dad always bullied Sasha, and she protected me from him every single day. She’s so much happier without him. I’m kind of seeing that in some ways we’re lucky.’ I was thinking about Joe’s family. ‘Lots of people have a worse time than we do. I’m going to work hard and do as well as I can in my exams this summer, to keep my options open. I mean it’s shit. Sorry! I mean rubbish –’

She interrupted me with a smile. ‘It’s OK, Ariel. I have heard the word shit before. I may even have uttered it myself.’

‘You just did!’

‘Exactly.’

‘Yeah. So it’s shit, but it’s bearable shit, and I know that our baby’s whole world is going to be Sasha and me and Jai. So I can’t be moping around, missing someone the baby will never even know, because I’m not going to create a world that involves our baby being sad. No way. So.’

I noticed that we were approaching the classroom and wondered why the fucking fuck I’d said all that while walking to a French lesson. I hadn’t intended to. ‘Yeah. That, I suppose.’

‘How wonderful to hear you sounding positive,’ said Ms D. ‘I’m so pleased. When’s Sasha’s due date?’

‘July the second.’

‘Wonderful. Ariel, if I give you my card could you let me know when he’s born? You’ll have left school by then, and I’d like to drop round a little present.’

I grinned. ‘Of course! I promise.’

She handed me a business card, which wasn’t actually a real one but a rectangle of paper on which she’d handwritten her name, number and email address. Florence Duke. It was a cool name. It sounded like someone from the Renaissance.

‘Thanks,’ I said, but she’d already opened the classroom door and turned back into the teacher.