While they’re complete opposites in many ways, they both seem to like the familiarity of routine, and Katherine slides onto the hard-backed wooden chair in the corner of Ellie’s room without discussion, and then watches her new friend climb onto her (still crease-free) bed and cross her legs neatly underneath herself. The room is warm, and Katherine can’t help scratching her chin.

‘Does it hurt?’ Ellie asks, staring at the scales of red skin on Katherine’s face, while reaching for a tube of prescription hand cream on her bedside table. Katherine should feel embarrassed by such a direct enquiry, or annoyed, but there’s not much Ellie could say that would offend her.

‘It itches sometimes, but no, it doesn’t hurt. Not physically anyway.’

Ellie nods her understanding. ‘I suppose there were kids at school who made comments. It was the same for me.’

‘You? But you’re beautiful!’ Katherine can’t help spurting out, but the compliment goes either unnoticed or unaccepted.

‘My parents are from Romania. Everyone called me gypsy.’

‘That’s crazy. I bet they were jealous.’

‘Or they called me poverty case, because my clothes were too small for me, or too tatty.’

‘I can’t imagine that; you always look immaculate in here.’

‘You’re very loyal, aren’t you?’

Katherine shrugs. ‘No, I … I just like you, I guess,’ she admits shyly.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie counters. ‘But it’s not just me. You’re loyal to Becca too.’

‘Becca? I did something terrible to her,’ Katherine whispers, the weight of guilt dropping on her chest like a fallen tree trunk.

‘You still talk about her like she’s perfect, even after she turned the letter you wrote her into ammunition.’

Katherine sighs. She doesn’t regret talking to Ellie about Becca – she was kind and compassionate like always – but it does mean that Ellie can spring the subject on her at any time. ‘I owe her,’ she finally whispers. ‘After what I did to her.’

With the confession, the images come – just like they always do. The blood starting as a spot, then spreading. All the noise and chaos. Students staring in horror, a PE teacher trying to help, shoving a bunched-up football shirt against Becca’s head. She never found out how well it worked, because the police turned up before the paramedics moved Mr Cannock out of the way.

‘You were ill,’ Ellie says. ‘Scared and let down. You couldn’t help it.’

‘I remember being so mad with her,’ Katherine whispers. ‘For choosing Clara over me. I thought I was the victim, but I got that wrong.’

‘You were a victim, just of a different crime.’