I shake my head to clear it. Concentrate. Re-focus.

‘I need some fresh air. Just for a few minutes.’

She looks around, back towards the office to check if Gill’s within earshot. Nothing. All the staff are busy elsewhere.

‘Go,’ she says, ‘I’ll cover for you.’

I stuff the envelope into my locker, slip my coat on and push the staff door outwards. Air. Breathe it in. It’s raining but I don’t feel it at first. There’s a delay, like somebody’s sheltering me from the wet. A giant hand. My own invisible umbrella. Then it breaks through. Water hitting my face, finding its way under my hood. Like when Amina used to flick her toothbrush at me before bed and dare me to tell. I run over to the smoking shelter. The sky is dark, like the light just gave up and let evening come early. Stand as far in as I can, my back against the rough bricks. Knuckles catching on the edge of them. I look at my hands. Not bleeding, just scraped white. I close my eyes and swallow the nausea down and try to calculate whether there could be a baby. Unlikely, but not impossible. Oh God, please let it be impossible. There’s someone coming over. A man. I can’t make out a face. The rain is too heavy. He’s tall. His coat is draped over his head. If I go now it’ll look rude. I don’t want to make small talk. I want to be alone. He sees me and stops. He stands outside the shelter getting wet. I move along to make it clear there’s room. He steps in.

‘Sorry,’ he says.

I don’t know what he’s sorry for. He hasn’t done anything. He puts his coat on properly. It’s too big on him. That hair though. Golden. Red. Somewhere in between. The only bright thing in a sea of grey. I’m staring. Look away. Say something.

‘You can smoke if you want to. I’m going in in a minute.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s fine. I don’t want to, I mean – I don’t even – it’s fine, really.’

‘You’re May’s grandson, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘She talks about you.’

‘Really?’

‘The boy with the red hair.’

‘She calls me Ned.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Alex.’

‘Ah. Who’s Ned?’

‘I have no idea.’

He stares out at the car park, like he’s longing to get away. There are things I could tell him about her. Last week she followed me into the corridor, holding her bag against her body like her life depended on it. She stopped me and whispered in my ear.

‘Can you make use of this?’ she said.

She opened the bag and separated a tissue off the pile stuffed into the front pocket. She looked around as if she was afraid we were being watched.