They eat quietly for a while, leaning against the untidy island. A bowl of ageing fruit, wine stains, bills, a corkscrew and a gardening fork litter its marble surface. ‘Ann-Marie.’

‘Yep?’ Ann-Marie has her mouth full of marshmallow.

‘You know how you said I should tell you if those girls gave me any more bother?’

‘What have they been doing now?’

‘It’s just … They don’t like me. I feel like they’re going to play a trick on me.’

‘How could anyone not like you? They’ll be jealous of you.’

Lauren shakes her head. ‘No, they’re not. How would they be?’

‘Because you’re different.’ Ann-Marie puts her arm around Lauren in a half-hug. ‘You’re cool, Lauren! Come on. Tell them to go and … kiss your bahookie.’

Lauren giggles.

‘Shall we put on some music?’ says Ann-Marie. ‘What do you like?’

‘Um. I like Frozen.’

‘OK. I don’t have that.’ She picks up the greasy kitchen stereo by its handle and they go back to the hall by the fire.

Ann-Marie plays synth music and Lauren begins to dance, sitting on the wood floor, swaying her arms above her head.

‘My parents really like them. They’re from the eighties,’ says Ann-Marie. ‘They’re called Duran Duran.’ She skewers another marshmallow.

They bring candles back to the fire, to light the room, now the bulb has blown. The fire crackles. Part of a thick branch breaks and falls into the flames with a rush and snap.

‘Ann-Marie? Some girls were talking and it made me wonder. Where do you think my mum went?’ Lauren’s words rush out like water. She sees Ann-Marie go still as she continues. ‘I once asked Kirsty about it, but she said I have to ask my dad and my dad doesna want to talk about it.’

Ann-Marie looks Lauren straight in the eye. ‘Yeah?’ She nods encouragingly. Her mouth closes. Lauren can see the shape of her tongue moving, as if dislodging food or finding the right words. When she speaks, it is in a more formal tone. ‘It’s difficult. And the truth of it is, Lauren, I don’t know what exactly happened.’ She gives a puffy-cheeked sigh. ‘I wish I did. Diane and I have always said that.’

‘What do you mean?’

She gives a searching look and closes her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry, pal.’ She puts her arm around Lauren once again. ‘It’s hard to talk about.’ She pulls away, leaving her hand on Lauren’s shoulder. ‘We don’t know where your mum went to. Nobody does. She left, one day. When you were little. She didn’t say where she was going.’

‘But why?’ Lauren’s eyes and nose have begun to grow moist in frustration. She has never wished so fervently to be an adult.