Katherine looks at her mum’s face. Even tinged with disappointment, her porcelain skin and pale blue eyes look pretty. Why don’t those features have the same effect on her? Why does her mum look like an English rose while she’s a pallid lump, the only colour coming from her red-raw eczema? ‘It’s my birthday, my presents; I’ll open them when want.’ She knows that she sounds like a spoilt brat, but the words tumble out anyway.

‘First entry for the journal,’ Javier murmurs, the tease in his voice having morphed from affectionate to mocking.

‘FUCK OFF! YOU FUCKING DICK!’ she screams, panting with the effort.

‘Katherine!’ her mum cries out, her eyes wide with shock. ‘What on earth …’ But Katherine doesn’t wait to hear the rest of her mum’s sentence. She twists on her heels and stomps out of the living room, then out of the front door. She tumbles onto the driveway, then the street. Once she’s far enough away, she slows her pace, because of course she doesn’t actually have anywhere to go. And now she’s stuck without a coat on a February afternoon.

Eventually she makes it out of her endless red-brick estate. She crosses the main road and climbs over a fence directly opposite. There’s nothing but low-lying fields on this side, muddy and neglected, and that suits her mood.

‘Hey.’

Katherine swivels round.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought I recognised you. You go to Newbury Academy, right?’

Becca Fischer. In black leggings and spotless army green wellies. What is she doing here? And how could she possibly recognise Katherine? No one ever notices her. She manages a weak smile and something close to a nod.

‘I’m living over there.’ Becca gestures towards a short row of narrow rendered houses on the perimeter of the field. Neat and tidy, but small. ‘Needed a bit of fresh air,’ Becca continues. ‘What about you?’

Katherine blinks. She never confides in anyone; she made that mistake once in year seven, and the name of her first crush spread faster than an airborne virus. But for some reason her instincts tell her that she can trust Becca.

‘It’s my birthday today,’ she starts cautiously.

‘Happy birthday.’

‘My mum did this big family tea. Cake, presents, my half-sisters …’

‘And you needed some time out?’

Katherine looks up, into Becca’s eyes. ‘Yeah,’ she whispers, and feels the warmth of Becca’s smile.

‘I’m dealing with some stuff,’ the older girl says. ‘Needed a bit of a time-out too. I tried cleaning the oven, but it’s a relentless task, you know? Never quite gets clean?’

Katherine doesn’t know – she’s never attempted it – but she nods anyway.

‘I thought if I could master the oven, then maybe I’d feel better about the other stuff. Stupid, hey?’