Reynolds was saying something about design and precision, about selecting the right tools for the job. Claire whispered instructions in my ear. I hesitated. She nudged me. So I did it. I held them up – one in each hand – and tapped them against each other. They hardly made a sound. She rolled her eyes. Go on. So I pulled. One against the other, as hard as I could. Metal scraping against metal. The screech and the shudder of it. It set my teeth on edge. I could feel the vibrations in my gums. Around the class people were groaning and covering their ears. Mr Reynolds span around and his eyes were wild, his face all pink. Claire looked like all her Christmases had come at once.

‘Kawen Whittaker!’ he yelled, ‘put those down wight now,’ he took a big gulping breath, ‘you never, ever wub the wasps together!’

Claire laughed so hard she snorted.

‘Sorry, sir,’ I said, trying to look calm. I put them down on the desk.

From the back of the class someone repeated his line in a squeaky voice. All the W’s instead of R’s. He stood there for a minute, not saying anything and the bell rang for break. Chairs scraping on the tiles, bag zips and all the laughing. Someone said ‘Thank you Mr Weynolds’ in a singsong voice and Claire grabbed my hand to pull me away. We pushed out into the corridor and legged it as fast as we could, ignoring him calling me to stay behind.

‘He’s a stupid, soft get,’ Claire said when we made it out onto the yard, ‘don’t worry, he won’t do nothing.’

Someone hit me on my shoulder. I turned round to push them back but it was Simon Williams grinning at me, his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and hanging out of his trousers on one side. He gave me the thumbs up.

‘Nice one, Karen,’ he said, ‘classic.’

There wasn’t time to say anything back. I just smiled like an idiot and he was gone. Claire elbowed me in the ribs.

‘Nice one, Karen,’ she said and my face went hot. She put on a low, husky voice. ‘Classic.’

‘Get lost.’

‘Ka-wen Whittaker, are you blushing?’

This bloody music. Better than the hymns at church, but not by much. I wish I had earplugs. The door bangs open and Dad skids into the kitchen. He shuts it behind him and leans back to keep it closed.

‘Bloody hell, May, there’s a bird walking around in the dining room.’

I sit up. The look on his face. He’s properly scared. Mum is draining vegetables in a colander over the sink. ‘Why don’t you open a window?’ she says without turning round.

‘You should see the size of it. It’s almost as big as Karen.’

‘I didn’t know ostriches were native to Lancashire.’

‘Stop joking, woman and come and do something about it!’