I mooch along the canal, those heavy bags banging against my leg again, and think about the first week back at school. Would Ms White and Ms Prendergast miss me? What about the rest of them? I think of Jess and Karen, the only other girls in my class I’ve heard talking about ‘going all the way’, and they both said it was ‘delicious’, like all the best things in life packed into one tingling moment. ‘Orgasmic.’ That word. Although I made all the necessary noises (I know what’s expected of me after watching hard-core porn with Brian and his mates), I really didn’t feel a thing. It wasn’t terrible or anything, just not really anything. But, I guess I don’t have a great store of life’s ‘delicious’ moments to draw from, and I was always pissed. Even on my own, in my room, I never really got the hang of it. The last time I tried, Mother snuck in on me and stood in the doorway watching for fuck knows how long. That kind of killed any fun to be had twiddling around down there. That was also the moment I decided to push a chair under the door handle, which resulted in the chair disappearing from the room the next day. The weirdest thing about it was that she said nothing, just chilled me with her silence.

I feel I’m being watched; then again maybe it’s my overactive imagination playing tricks on me, because according to the school counsellor (sorry, Mrs O’D, I’ve already had a few appointments and it hasn’t made one iota of difference), I have ‘paranoid tendencies’. When I step inside the building I see a suited young fella coming down the stairs. He looks really happy to see me. ‘What room?’

I don’t know why I do this but I tell him number 12, which is nowhere near mine.

‘Tomorrow, lunch-time?’ he says.

Jesus, this guy’s got an appetite, and a wallet. I wonder how many of the clients have a daily habit, like going to the gym. He probably tells his colleagues that’s where he’s at. I bet ‘the gym’ is code.

I go back to my box and decide to have a picnic. The first thing I do – which is, in hindsight, a mistake – is open the bottle of vodka and drink. I don’t glug though; I’m careful just to take little sips. It doesn’t take long for my stomach to burn and my head to settle. My body softens and I lie flat out, surveying the cracks. All appetite gone now. I’m knackered.