But Lisa had sighed. ‘You don’t get it, Beth. Having just one friend – it’s not normal.’

She’d gotten to her feet, pulling on the ends of her scarf, tightening it around her neck.

‘I just need a break from you for a while,’ she’d said, and Beth had felt a new and sudden desperation gripping her. She stood up and reached out to hug her friend, to embrace her, and that’s when she saw it – the expression crossing Lisa’s face so swiftly, she might have missed it. Revulsion. An instant recoil.

‘For how long?’ Beth asked, thinking a week – maybe two.

But Lisa had shaken her head. ‘I need to find different friends,’ she said, ‘on my own. Without you. I don’t want to hang out with you any more.’

A few days later, as Ms Philips, their Art teacher, had swept into the room, Beth had opened up her pencil case and found a bloodied sanitary towel among her markers. The class erupted around her into screeches of disgust and howls of laughter and something inside her seemed to crack open, revealing a soft, painful vulnerability. The craft knife was there on the desk. Hardly any thought went into it – an impulse, that’s what it was. A way of confusing the pain. A small flesh-wound to distract from the dark chasm opening inside her.

She had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But now, what came back to her was the rumble of emotions, the clamouring of despair, of unacceptable rage at all the burning disappointments, the parade of indignities. And sadness. Immense sadness breaking over her head like a wave.

In the bowl of flour, Lisa’s hand moved, her fingers finding Beth’s, the gentle squeeze of them as Beth’s hand responded, flakes of dough catching in their grip. It only lasted a second or two and then Lisa let go, saying: ‘I am sorry, you know?’ and Beth nodded, saying ‘Me too.’

‘I know you think I’m crazy to be friends with them,’ Lisa continued after a moment, picking up the thread of their conversation, ‘but they’re nice, really, once you get to know them.’

‘Even Sasha?’ Beth asked sceptically.

‘She’s different when she’s on her own, away from the crowd. I know she acts like a princess, but she actually has a pretty hard time at home. Her dad’s work sends him abroad like for months at a time, to Saudi, Bahrain, places like that. He’s practically a stranger to her. And her mum is really hard on her, constantly putting pressure on her to be perfect. It all got too much for her last year, and she had to go on beta blockers for a while. God, don’t tell anyone I said this, okay?’