The estate agent’s card could come in handy when Jack’s brother moves in. But we missed Ross Robson’s gig. And as for the skiing lesson – well, I never had any desire to do it anyway. The tiny Vietnamese bowl of noodles sparks an ache in my chest. A trip we’ll never take.

‘Jack?’

It’s easy to imagine him here. Bloated; hiccups. He always got hiccups when we came home from fancy restaurants. He wouldn’t be staring at the fridge with me. No. His focus would be past my head, towards the wall. He’d be playing his favourite silly game.

‘What’s behind the picture?’ I hear him ask.

I turn around and face it myself. ‘What is behind the picture?’

The man’s eyes stare intently into Jack’s camera lens. Ronald McDonald stands behind the shopping trolley, a terrifying clown-god, a reminder of all things delicious and disgusting. I can taste the salt in my mouth; the sweet and sour tang of the dip. I can hear the buzz of the shopping mall, the bustle of the street. The man had sighed, and yet he was in no hurry to move. I’m there, too, now; I’m transported. And I want to answer Jack’s final question to me. I want to find out what’s going on; what’s really behind the picture.

‘We always said we’d go back there one day,’ I say, calmly.

‘And find him, Chloe. Ask him what he was doing.’

*

I wake up on the sofa to the world’s greatest smell: crispy bacon. My dad’s buttering bread and hum-singing ‘Hotel California’. My mum enters with her hair washed and styled and a full face of makeup on. Her clothes are ironed and she smells like the ground floor of John Lewis.

‘Oh, Jesus. You didn’t sleep in your mascara did you, Chloe?’

‘Morning, Tilly Mint!’

I sit up, still wearing my tiger-print dress, and smile.

‘I’m going to Bangkok,’ I tell them.

‘Y’what?’ they screech in unison.

School finishes for the summer hols this Friday. I’ll fly out on Saturday.

‘Thailand. Bangkok.’ I look past my dad and give the man in the shopping trolley a firm nod. ‘Yeah. I’m gonna go.’

16

‘And I suppose you booked two plane tickets as well, didn’t you?’ Beth snaps.

I’m glad she’s on the other end of the phone. She can’t see me giving her the finger.

She’s been trying to speak to me since yesterday. But I had a sneaky plan. I’ve returned her call now I’ve checked in and I’m through passport control. When Beth wants something, she’ll go to extreme measures to get it, and she doesn’t want me going to Bangkok. She wants me to go with her on a yoga retreat in the Cotswolds.