Jenny stares at her gloomily and helps herself to another crispy claw from the packet. ‘I’ll tell you this one story, OK?’ she says mid-chew, ‘but don’t tell anyone I did. People say there must be this guy, who lives up in the woods. OK?’ She looks over her shoulder. ‘So, my uncle was telling us, his friend, he saw something strange when he was walking his dog up in those woods one night. The ones near where you and Billy stay. He’s walking up there, deep, deep in the trees as it’s getting dark and the dog goes off for ages.

‘So. He shouts her and nothing. Starts to think she must have gotten lost. It’s getting really dark and he can hardly see his own hand in front of his face. Then he hears the dog come out of the trees at last, panting. He can make out she is dragging this huge big stick she’s got from somewhere, poking out both sides of her mouth, you know. Trailing along the ground.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Lauren doesn’t like this story.

‘When he gets to his car, he opens the boot for the dog and the light comes on. He notices that the stick is wrapped in some kind of material or some sort of thing. Some rags. The dog is staring up at him, really pleased. Her tongue hanging out, you know. Then the man looks down and notices a shoe, a trainer, on the end of the stick. He realizes it’s not a stick at all, but his dog has dragged out a human leg.’

Lauren squashes the crisp packet into her pocket and feels the same as when the tide is sucking away from her feet, drawing her into the sand. ‘I’ve got to go to the bathroom,’ she says.

‘I thought you were going to read my palm,’ Jenny says, but Lauren is already walking back to the overheated girls’ cloakroom, angry at herself for being such a baby. The place is empty and feels cavernous compared to the sharp winter light outside. She takes off her coat, sits on the floor and presses her back hard into the white-ridged radiator. She lets the heat seep into her skin until it scalds.