I have noticed two things lately: I’ve been finding it easy to agree with her, yet easier still to speak my mind. I worry I am starting to trust her. And, although that’s not a bad thing in itself, it makes me feel nervous. I’m not ready for it and it’s not done me any good trusting people, not in the past.

‘Look, Ruth,’ she says. ‘It’s not as hard as it seems. Each flower, you see, has a meaning as well as a scent and a distinctive colour and shape. It seems complicated at first, but really I think it’s quite easy to guess the meaning just by looking at the flower. Once you’ve guessed the meaning, even the scent will make more sense. I promise.’ For a moment she looks incredibly serious.

‘But isn’t that what the book is for? To provide us with the correct information so we don’t have to guess randomly?’

‘The book has all the information we need, but what is the information we’re looking for, exactly? The book doesn’t know me; you do. Want to take a guess?’ She flicks the book open. ‘Come on; it’s fun.’

Her cool hand locks around my wrist like a daisy chain. I don’t remember her ever having touched me before, though I know this can’t be true. I look at our joined hands. Alanna guides my fingers to the bottom of page seventy-seven, The Peony, and covers the description before I can read it.

‘I promise it’s not hard. We’ll start easy.’

‘Right,’ I say.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘What does this look like to you?’

‘A peony?’ I say lamely, reading the title at the top of the page.

‘Jesus, Ruth. Come on, girl!’ She gives my hand a little squeeze. ‘Make an effort.’

‘It’s very pretty,’ I say.

‘It is pretty,’ she says. ‘And? What does it remind you of?’

‘It looks like fabric. Like silk.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’

‘A bit like a tutu?’