My room is freezing cold, the weak wintry sunlight streaming in through the window not enough to warm the room at all. I’m not sure if it’s the temperature of the room, or the fact that Laurel is missing that makes me shiver, my arms stippled with goosebumps. My stomach twists, as I think of her again, running after Fran, the way I turned back to the fireworks display before I saw her catch up. Why didn’t I keep my eyes on her, just for a few seconds longer?

Clothes litter the end of my bed, from where I tried on and discarded several different outfits before leaving last night, settling on the blue and white striped top I still wear now. I sniff under the armpits and grimace, before tugging it over my head and dropping it into the laundry pile. I need a shower, and clean clothes. My blonde hair hangs limply around my shoulders, and the tops of my feet are splattered with tiny flecks of mud where my trainers didn’t cover them.

Listening out as I step on to the landing, I hear the murmur of voices below as I go into the bathroom and lock the door. The hot water thunders down over my hair and I let go of the tears that I’ve held at bay since this morning. Salty trails stream down my cheeks, mixing with the hot water from the shower, and I gasp as my nose clogs, the steam catching in the back of my throat.