She pirouettes away from me, across the chequerboard tiles in the hall, into the kitchen. Her feet look impossibly tiny in silver high heels.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Mum’s in Magaluf filming a Scottish family finding their forever home and Dad is out with a “friend”.’

She nods sympathetically. I’ve never told her outright about his affairs, but I’ve come closer than I have with any of my mates. ‘Is he coming back tonight?’

‘Probably not. Quite often he stays over with his friends.’ With her. A different her every few months. They never last. My parents don’t seem to like each other, but they’re still wedded to the idea of being a power couple.

‘Home alone, then?’ she asks, mischief making her voice all husky.

‘I was in the garden den, watching telly. Do you want to join me?’

Before now, we’ve always only chatted in the kitchen.

She blinks.

I hold my breath.

‘Why not?’ she says.

The den was built as Mum’s swanky garden office, but when I got the apprenticeship I moved in, because I wanted more independence and she didn’t want me to leave home. I slept out there, brought a few girls back. But mostly it was mates I had round, playing Resident Evil and GTA. They’d drink beer and smoke weed but I never did.

Now I do. Why wouldn’t I? It’s temporary, though. As soon as I’m back at the club, I’ll have a reason to look after myself again.

I flick a switch by the back door and the pathway lights up, a dozen spotlights leading the way to the den a hundred metres from the house. The design is feminine, with mullioned window panes and a blue-slate roof with a real chimney for the log burner.

‘Oh, that looks adorable.’

And so does Kerry, standing there in her puffy dress, eyes wide from drinking, hair shining like the conkers in Stanmer Park.

Without thinking, I take her hand to lead her towards the den. Our feet brush against the pink flowers planted along the path, and their perfume drifts towards us.

After admiring the wood burner and the soft-green walls and the mint-velvet daybed, Kerry plonks herself down on the sofa with a sigh. The skirt of her dress rides up but she doesn’t seem to notice and it’d seem creepy to mention it.

I get her a beer. ‘What’s it like being eighteen? My birthday’s not till August.’

Kerry laughs. ‘The same, except my feet hurt more than they did yesterday.’ She stretches out her legs.

I try to only look at her shoes but my eyes travel past her slim ankles to her calves, her thighs . . . I blink, thinking of Tim’s arm around her waist. My fists clench. ‘Did you do a lot of dancing?’