I’ve got three cards left and no intention of adding to my hand. I play a weak Power Output stat, passing the card towards him as I speak.

‘Mum tells me to go easy on you cos you’re still grieving. Is that it, Morky? Is this still about your aunty?’

My head rotates away from him as if I’m dodging a punch. I stare into the corner of the room.

‘Mum says I can’t understand what something like that does to someone. I know how close you were.’

‘You don’t know anything.’

‘Come on, Morky. What’s it been now, a year?’

‘Almost,’ I whisper, not turning back to him, my eyes focused on the droplets of water that bulge from the tap spout, swelling and drooping until they can cling on no more.

‘A year’s a long time,’ he says. ‘Don’t you want everything to go back to normal?’

‘I don’t want to talk about this any more.’ I pass him my two last cards.

He doesn’t argue. He stacks them neatly with his own and sets them down between his legs.

‘I really do need to go now,’ I tell him.

He nods. As I draw level, he looks up and smiles. He’s got mayonnaise and mustard all round his mouth. ‘Thanks for the game, old friend,’ he says. ‘Last day. I had to have one last try.’

I look down at his half-eaten lunch. His mum would’ve made that for him this morning. She was probably wearing that apron with birds all over it that she always put on over her work suit. She was certainly having a boogie round the kitchen to MTV, like she always did. I think about the one and only time I did go round there since Aunty Kaye. How his mum hadn’t minded when I couldn’t eat my dinner, how she’d given me a really long hug when she drove me home. I think about his dad, how he’s probably already packed the fishing gear for him and Amit this weekend. I think about Amit getting out of bed this morning, about his bedroom walls that he’s painted white four times, but still have the Toy Story wallpaper showing through. I think about the shelf of books in there – Tolkien, Terry Pratchett, J. K. Rowling – the books his dad used to read to him when he was in middle school, and how he read to me as well when I stayed over.

I’m standing right on the threshold. I know I should just walk. Sophia will be mad if she finds out.

There’s no need for her to find out.

‘You’ve got to do something for me, Amit,’ I say.

‘Sounds interesting,’ he says with a chuckle.

‘Listen to me,’ I say, grabbing his forearm. ‘This is really fucking important. I need you to go home early.’