‘You can have two tomorrow. No arguing, okay?’

In bed that night the itching was worse than ever. Sophie’s phantom period still hadn’t started, but it was surely only a matter of time. She wished she could get to a computer to find out what the itching meant, how long she had left before her sentence began. She couldn’t stop thinking about Elena, the German exchange student who’d attended the school last term. Elena had been very tall with lots of frizzy mouse-grey hair and biggish breasts made shapeless by a thick cotton sports bra. Everyone knew she had her period because sometimes she couldn’t go swimming, and once after netball Rhiannon Jenkins had found some STs in her washbag – little plastic-packed squares printed with a pattern of polka dots. For some reason these squares had been codenamed ‘biscuits’; for the rest of term it was all the rage to ask Elena if she wanted a biscuit then run off, giggling hysterically.

Maybe she could just pretend to be ill every time it was her period, Sophie thought. Then she wouldn’t have to tell anyone about it, not even her mother. She could simply stay in bed for – how long did a period last, anyway? Two days? Three days? A whole week?

There was another twinge between her legs, the largest yet. Sophie glanced over at Harriet to check she was asleep and pushed her hand down under the bedclothes. She rubbed at the source of the itching. This time, she detected more than just moisture. There was something squishy, almost solid. She brought her hand up again, carefully cupped to protect whatever it was from the bedclothes.

There, on her fingertip, was a tiny worm. There was just enough moonlight coming through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains for Sophie to see that its body was ridged and whitely translucent.

As she watched, its pointed tail waved gently from side to side.

Seven

The same combination of accident and inertia that had sparked their kiss ensured that Chris and Leah’s first date led to a second – a development facilitated, in his well-meaning way, by Callum. On the afternoon of his return from Ilfracombe, he called Chris to arrange a time for the two of them to finally sit down together and talk about the army.

‘Why don’t we do Sunday week, so a fortnight today?’ Chris suggested. ‘You probably know this already, but – I’m actually going out with Leah that night, on the Saturday. So I’ll be in town anyway.’

‘No, I didn’t know that.’ Callum was surprised but pleased. ‘That’s great. I assume’ – here his tone changed to one of good-natured salaciousness – ‘I assume you’ve, ah, got a bed for the night?’