It’s also obvious Dom and George think the sun shines out of Danny’s place-where-the-sun-doesn’t-usually-shine, so when Dom basically asked me to cut him some slack it made me think, Well sure, maybe. I can admit he seems like a reasonably cool bloke, aside from his obvious flaws, but my major issue is that it’s hard to miss that he’s deliberately avoiding us. From what I’ve gathered his usual routine is pretty much eat, sleep, lose a job, repeat anyhow, but all those prior social engagements and the staying out all day when he isn’t even working is clearly a crock. He’s not fooling me, but what worries me more is that he isn’t fooling Lou.

I watch the back of him now, casually making coffee and doing his best not to look at me. Like I don’t know he’s going to scarper back out to his shed and go AWOL as soon as I get my Americano. I feel like asking him exactly how stupid he thinks I am, but I know I won’t, because I promised Dom. While I’m watching him and keeping my mouth shut, though, I’m thinking about Lou in that room up the hallway waiting for a tug on a thin, thin thread that isn’t going to come. And the more I think about it, the tighter and tighter my throat closes in, and I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get breakfast down now.

He makes good coffee, though. I’ll give him that. And, surprisingly, he’s still here.

When I check on Lou, she’s asleep, curled up like a half-moon under the duvet. I calculate the odds of her lying there all day, alone in this massive house, and my heart bangs it up a gear. I press my sweaty, stupid hands together to stop them shaking, and I don’t know how long I stand there imagining an invisible tangled web of threads creeping across the garden and enveloping the bed. But when Dom shouts that we’re leaving in five minutes, I only take the stairs one at a time. Because five minutes is plenty.

I lock the door behind me and turn the taps on full, sucking every spare bit of air in that room over my teeth. The unfamiliarity of the bathroom – the colour of the walls, the size of the window, the smell of the liquid soap on the basin – makes me woozy, and I drop the toilet lid and sit down hard. Steady as she goes, chica.

Five minutes. You have no idea how long that is.

Start your engine, Dom, I’ll be right back.

Twenty-five. Thirty-one. Thirty-four.

I keep it slow and steady, rolling the numbers around in my head.

Plenty of time. Treinta y nueve.

My windpipe loosens and I can taste cornflakes and coffee.

Forty-two, forty-three. Fists unclench, hands on my heart.

Hold on tight.

Fifty-two, fifty-three. Tiny wings brushing bone.

Fifty-five.

Distant sound of footsteps on polished wood.

Small-kid feet, expensive polished shoes.

Did you know that if you spit on your shoes they get shiny, Wolfie?