Alfie asks about this regularly, so looks unsurprised that Will has little progress to report. Sure, Will sees April most days, in photography lessons or to discuss the disco, but things aren’t the same since that afternoon in his bedroom. Was the electricity that day just in his imagination? Was it only him who felt it? They’re quiet with each other now. Neither of them have mentioned how that afternoon ended, how Danny behaved, how Will did nothing. When he’s with her now, it feels like April is permanently embarrassed, surely on Will’s behalf.

‘It’ll happen,’ Alfie says, scanning through his phone. ‘She likes you, brother. Promise.’

He begins replying to messages, texting at speed while muttering to himself.

‘Who’s that?’ Will asks, a little too quickly.

‘Hold on a min, cuz,’ he replies absently.

No longer the focus of Alfie’s attention, Will feels a sting of jealousy. Who are these other friends who are always bugging Alfie on his phone, interrupting their time together? Will forces his annoyance away.

‘Got a bit of business to attend to,’ Alfie says.

‘I suppose I should …’

‘You’re fine, cuz. Don’t go. Long as you’re cool?’

Will nods.

‘Bit of the naughty stuff, this.’ A pile of books collapses as Alfie jiggles open an old built-in wardrobe. ‘But if I can’t trust you after that police business, then there’s something wrong with me. Watch the door, yeah? Can’t have the little people barging in.’

Will holds a stack of trainer boxes that Alfie passes to him. With the base of the wardrobe cleared, Alfie jemmies a strip of wood free. He tosses a handful of unopened letters out from the void, all of them official-looking, many in red envelopes. They are, Will notices, all addressed to a Mrs Y Lim, who he feels it’s safe to assume is Alfie’s mum.

‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ Alfie says, spotting where Will’s looking. ‘Always get to the post first, that’s the key.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Long story. Boring one too.’ Alfie retrieves the battered cash box buried beneath them. ‘Nothing to see here, officer,’ he jokes as he empties the contents on to his bed.

Will watches, fascinated and terrified in equal measure, as Alfie sets up the digital scales and peels cling film from a tiny, bright white block.

‘That was one of my regulars,’ Alfie says. ‘Pays to be reliable.’

He flakes nuggets from the block till the scales show a little over two grams. Using a Stanley blade he trims the small pile, sweeping the excess off the side till the display reads two exactly. He wraps it up in a little origami envelope, repeating the process twice into a couple of single-gram packages, discarding the excess off the side of the scales each time.

‘Where you gotta take it?’ Will asks.