‘Is it a party?’

‘Sort of. He wanted to give you the closest thing to a gig, without the crowds and the disgusting toilets. I think some of the people are in the music business.’ Gemma sounds as wowed by this as I am.

‘Seriously?’ What would I say to them? Literally the only interesting thing about me is my tumour, and no one wants to talk about that at a party.

‘You don’t have to hang out with them,’ Gemma says. ‘I’m a bit nervous myself, as they’re so cool. How about you and I go onto the terrace together with Bear and eat the pizza your dad ordered? He won’t mind.’

He will mind; I know how important it was for me to like them, and for them to like me.

What bead of courage would I get for talking to strangers? I take my chain down from the shelf, touching the gems, remembering how scared I was the first time they did the things each colour represents. How hard it was not to freak out, but how much easier it got. This party might be the same. If I’m going to be part of DL’s life, I can’t let Bob, or fear, beat me. Not tonight.

‘I can do this,’ I say to myself as much as Gemma. ‘If my dad likes them, so will I.’

‘You go, girl.’ Gemma reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘Let’s do this!’

When I get off the bed my legs wobble a bit. Mostly all I do is meet nurses and doctors and other sick kids. Tonight will be different. It’s what I wanted, right?

I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

Yuk. My hair looks good – thank you, Pepe – but my face is pale and bloated.

‘Gemma, before we go out there, could you help me with my make-up?’

This might be the best night of my life. I am feeling literally all the feels.

My father has the coolest friends in the entire world. There’s Vijay, who runs the staging and fireworks company that DL works for during the summer. Plus Eddie, a real-life guitarist, and his Spanish wife, who is a music agent – whatever that is – and so ultra-beautiful I can’t even speak to her without blushing, plus their baby daughter, as cute as a doll.

Hanging out on the terrace are a couple of guitarists who’ve played with bands I’ve never heard of, but Gemma has.

And there’s a boy . . .

I can’t speak to the boy without blushing either, but he doesn’t seem interested in talking to me. He’s sitting in the hanging egg chair on the balcony, watching the harbour, swigging from a bottle of Diet Coke.

He has thick, dark hair and eyelashes like Molly’s after she’s put on four coats of Wonder’Lash, and he wears shorts that show off his legs, which are so buff and dark they could be varnished.

DL doesn’t make a big song and dance when I come out of the bedroom. He smiles and gets me a drink – fruit punch ladled from a big bowl, with ice and sliced strawberries. Vijay is sharing his dream playlist and every track goes on for ever, and he’s telling stories about the raves he helped organize when he was a teenager.