Luce knows I have a reputation as being exactly that with the boys in the school. Right now she’s getting hot standing in my presence. Her cheeks are pulsating and I can tell her heart is hammering. I have her in my thrall. ‘Ready to run?’ I say, pinioning her with my stare. She nods and pushes open the door, and the two of us bolt it down the stairs, past Mother’s bulk as she tries to block the door but finds two hurtling teenagers too much for her. ‘Oh my poor heart,’ she says, gasping, grabbing at her humongous bosom as the two of us fly past, laughing so loudly it seems we might combust. ‘You’re my knight in shining armour,’ I say to Luce. I know she likes that one.

We burst outside into the limp sunlight that does little to heat the expanse of my bare goose-pimply skin. We run fast, past all the other identikit white semi-Ds with their neatly tarmacked drives and their 4x4s, past the scrawny newly planted trees, past Spar and Murtagh’s pharmacy (purveyors of Xanax and Lexotan to the stressed-out mothers of terrible teenagers), past Café Zefferelli’s, past Butler’s Pantry, and further on – to the Holy Grail, the all-important booze emporium. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Luce says to my back as I disappear into the offy, where Mother has won ‘Customer of the Year Award’ the last five years straight.

Inside, the boy with the pimples who doesn’t look old enough to be serving alcohol looks me up and down, running his gaze over my legs. As if. I know this game. I pick a naggin of vodka off the shelf.

‘ID,’ the guy manages. The sound comes out all muffled. He’s having a hard time swallowing.

‘Do I look like I’m too young?’ I say.

‘Sorry, no can do. If the boss sees me selling booze to you I’m out of a job,’ he says, warming to his theme of power and guardianship.

‘Tell your boss to come on out here.’ The guy is silent. I didn’t think so. ‘Come on, just let us buy the booze and I’ll make it worth your while.’ I frown at him. The frown says more than a smile in this instance. It says: I will, you know, I’m serious. I’ll do anything you want me to do, if you’ll sell me this booze.

‘Come on, Sam, let’s go,’ Luce says. ‘I’m starving.’