She sighs. ‘Pretty much as you’d imagine. Your mum and I aren’t getting on, as per, but you already know that. I think we’ll both be glad when I move on. Which now my exams are out the way and I’m eighteen, I can do. All I need to do is get a job, and then I can be independent. Like you.’

I want to say, ‘You could come and live with me and we would never need anyone else, I will look after you and provide everything that you need,’ but I don’t. It’ll just make her want to run, again. Panic. Say she needs to be left alone. It’s always such a fine line with Laura.

‘And the dancing? All good with that?’

She grins. ‘Yes. Really good. We did well at Blackpool and my teacher’s suggested I audition to be a pro on Strictly next year. If I made it, I’d be the youngest pro ever. Imagine that! Little me on the TV. You’d be proud.’

‘And you’re still dancing with the same guy?’ I ask, lightly, casually, as if I’m not livid with jealousy about every moment she spends with him. I taught her to dance, and I loved every second of it. She’s now a better dancer than me, I haven’t danced properly for years now, but I still wish she was still my partner instead of his. ‘What’s his name again?’ I add, as if I don’t spend several hours a week looking at his perfect fucking face on Insta, wondering if he’s using her like so many men do, and wanting to seek him out and punch him in case he is. ‘Toby, is it?’

‘It’s Tony, as you well know.’

I snort. ‘What kind of name’s that for a twenty-year-old?’

‘A perfectly good name that his parents saw fit to give him as a baby. He would probably ask why you’ve got a girl’s name,’ she teases.

‘So he’s all right, is he?’ I ask, ignoring the jibe. ‘You get on OK?’

She smiles. ‘Yeah. He’s a nice guy, a great dancer and fit as. We look good together. The judges love us as a pair,’ she says, seemingly deliberately giving nothing away.