Ever since that lunchtime when Becca stood up to Jade on her behalf, she’s been doing a lot of imagining, daydreaming about them spending time together. She worked out that Becca uses public transport rather than the school bus, so she swapped her mode of transport too and they now bump into each other quite regularly. Becca always smiles at Katherine when they pass each other, and twice – when the seat beside her has been empty – she’s nodded at it. That’s when Katherine’s heart has almost exploded, because she gets to sit next to Becca, their shoulders practically touching, for nearly half an hour. She’s not sure what it means, the tingling on her skin coupled with the squirming in her belly. But she knows she likes it.

The older girls are sat with their shoulders touching now. There’s plenty of space, so Katherine doesn’t see why they need to be so close. She grabs hold of the low tree branch that’s providing her camouflage, and grips it tightly, feeling the rough surface send tiny jolts of pain through her skin. Clara with her oh-so-cool afro drops an empty can over the edge of the pipe, and Katherine listens to it skitter along the smooth concrete. Then Clara lowers her head until it’s resting on Becca’s shoulder. Katherine takes a deep breath. Clara has good skin too. Her dad is Caribbean, and her mum is Irish, so of course she doesn’t have to worry about being pale or using toxic eczema creams that don’t fucking work. Kat bites the inside of her cheek and circles her tongue around the flap of dead skin.

Eventually Clara rights herself and a few minutes later they all push off the ground and unfurl their legs. Becca slips over the side, disappearing from view for a moment, then reappears with Clara’s empty can in her hand. Katherine can still hear the other two laughing as she watches them walk towards the high street.

‘Where have you been?’ her mum asks, but her tone is curious, not accusatory. Singsong even. Her cheeks are flushed and there’s a smile dancing on her lips. She and Javier have got friends over for dinner, and Katherine can hear a mixture of squeals and bellows escaping from their dining room.

‘Nowhere special,’ she says. ‘Just out.’ She watches her mum run her finger down the page of the recipe book that lies open on the work surface, trying to make sense of the instructions.