‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Gemma says.

‘Huh?’

‘You’re miles away.’

I shrug. ‘Just happy here. Can we stay till it closes?’

Gemma frowns. ‘It gets more like a bar later. Lots of annoying drunk people.’

‘I’ve never been drunk.’

‘I should hope not. You’re twelve!’

‘Molly is twelve and she got drunk on Baileys at Christmas. She says it’s like being in a dream, but also like being seasick.’

Gemma weighs it up. ‘Personally, I think alcohol is like holding a magnifying glass to whatever mood you’re in. If you were happy, you get happier, but if you were sad or pissed off, it becomes even harder to hide.’

‘We shouldn’t hide how we feel anyway.’

‘True. How do you feel right now, Casey?’ she asks.

‘Scared.’ I didn’t mean to say that. ‘And angry.’ Or that.

Gemma leaves space to let me go on. I don’t even think I want to, but when I open my mouth, the words start pouring out.

‘I’m not meant to be scared and angry. I’m meant to be brave and wise. They give you beads at the hospital whenever they do anything horrible to you. They call them beads of courage and they come in different colours, depending on what you’ve had, like a scan or a cannula or radiotherapy. My chain is three times as long as I am tall, but I’m not really courageous. Whenever I’m tired or headachy, I think, I’m never even going to live long enough to get drunk or kiss a boy, or learn to drive or fly in a balloon at sunrise, because Bob is going to finish me off.’

I won’t cry. I won’t.

Gemma shakes her head. ‘Oh, Casey. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.’

‘You don’t even know me.’

‘I haven’t known you for long, that’s true. But every time we meet up, I think what an impressive person you are. Which doesn’t mean you can’t tell your mum, or dad, or me, when you don’t feel brave.’

‘Nobody wants to hear it, though. Not really.’

‘I do,’ she says and opens her green eyes even wider than she does when she’s flirting with my dad. She reaches out and takes both my hands and, when I don’t pull away, she stands up and moves close enough to hug me, and I don’t want to let her go because it’s so lush.

Lush. That’s a Bristol word, for when something is amazing. I’ll miss Gemma, and Bristol, when this is over.

We leave when the barista replaces the coffee menus with a cocktail list. We walk past the pancake stall on the way back to the flat, and I ask Gemma if I can have one with Nutella and banana because it’s on my list.

It’s not, but I’ve worked out the list can be very useful when I want something to happen and adults don’t.

‘Sorry, no. I lost track of time. Next time, though.’

I could change her mind if I reminded her that time might be the one thing I don’t have. But I like her too much to do that.