Yvonne goes to the kitchen to make the tea, and clean up the huge mess Bethany managed to create while oven cooking a few potato products. The security light in the garden flicks on as Emma walks across the overgrown grass and sits in a cloud of moths and cigarette smoke. She definitely doesn’t know about Sweetboy then, and there’s no way Yvonne is going to tell her. He’s just some guy after all. He doesn’t matter. He didn’t call Yvonne after sleeping with her and he probably won’t call Emma either. It makes sense to forget about the whole thing.

Yvonne takes the tea out and sits next to the paddling pool bought last month during the heat wave. Both of them could just about fit in it, their knees bent, the water flowing over the side each time one of them moved.

Yvonne offers Emma the packet of chocolate digestives stolen from Box Room Bethany’s cupboard.

‘I’m really anxious about going back to Kenya this summer,’ Emma says.

‘Why?’

‘Because my parents are going to drive me mad. My dad’s already giving me a hard time about getting a job. He even suggested I do a Master’s. As if it’s a guarantee that I’m going to get my degree.’

They both laugh. A phone beeps from within the overgrown grass.

‘Urgh, is that mine?’ Emma says through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘I think I dropped it somewhere.’

Yvonne finds the small square of light next to a pile of burnt-out disposable barbecues and hands it over, trying her best not to look at who the message is from. But it’s clear from Emma’s smile that it’s him.

‘Can you believe Sweetboy is trying to invite himself over again?’ she says.

‘He’s coming over? Now?’ Yvonne panics.

‘Course not. I’ll get cystitis if I have another night like last night. Such bad luck to meet someone right before I go away for the summer.’

‘So, you like him then?’

‘Yeah. He’s so fit.’

‘I know he’s fit. You’ve said. Several times actually. But do you like him?’

Emma looks up and smiles. ‘Yeah, I think I do. But I’m not sure how much he likes me. He sort of runs hot and cold. But this,’ she holds up her phone, ‘the fact he got what he wanted and is still messaging me is a good sign. Right?’

Yvonne attempts to formulate a response, a confession of sorts, but all she can do is nod.

The phone beeps again. ‘Ah,’ Emma says, ‘he’s being quite persistent.’

Then, despite herself, Yvonne says, ‘Maybe it will cheer you up to go out tonight, take your mind off things.’

‘He can wait,’ Emma hops up. ‘You fancy dinner at The Plough? It’s two for one?’

‘You’re choosing me over Sweetboy?’