When I get home I go straight to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice. I finish it and pour another. I have a very specific orange juice thirst that will never be quenched.

I think of all the boys and the couple of girls that I’ve had not-sex with and it calms me to run through the list, picturing faces and names and parties and places. I don’t think about cold concrete against my skin and uncontrollable shivers.

I start looking in the cupboards for a packet of those fun-size chocolate bars that Mum hides for when she’s menopausal, and my plan is to eat them one after the other in the bath while the world goes away, at least for a little while.

‘Keep it down,’ a voice says. ‘Your dad’s upstairs with one of his migraines.’

Mum is on the couch, in the dark, doing nothing that I can see, which is something that she’s been doing more and more of lately. I kick off my heavy boots and sit with her. I offer her the bag of chocolate bars. She takes one but doesn’t open it.

Last time Dad had migraines he had to take three weeks off work. When he’s not all the way on, he’s usually all the way off.

‘Did you have fun with your friend?’

‘She’s not my friend.’

I feel terrible a split-second after saying that out loud. Embarrassing crying aside, I had more fun with Chloe today than I have had with anyone for a while.

‘Well, did you have fun with your not-friend?’

‘Yes I did. And you’re right, she is my friend.’ I polish off a bar in two bites and start on another. I should have asked Chloe if she needed help over the school holidays, if there’s anything else I could do. I should have made that much more clear when she and Jeremy dropped me off.

‘You look pretty with your hair like that,’ Mum says.

I touch my head, feeling the pointy crown atop my skull, which is where it’s been the whole time we drove home and ate Maccas. I’d forgotten I was wearing it. Yin and I never told our parents, never told any grown-ups, about Wingdonia. I might have mentioned it to Liv, but that’s it.

‘How come Dad’s not well?’

Mum sighs. ‘This has been hard on him. The police coming here really upset him. Not that he’ll say so out loud. We found out that the McIlwraiths had their house searched too.’

My chewing halts. Sarah didn’t say a word.

‘God, this whole thing. It’s not healthy for you girls, is it?’ Mum rubs her temples as if she’s also brewing a headache. ‘Every man you know is a potential suspect. How are you going to grow up to like them?’

‘I like them just fine,’ I say, without even knowing if it’s true. Maybe it is. Marcel keeps messaging me, even though I’ve hardly been encouraging. I might have spoken too eagerly, because Mum’s eyebrows are now saying: don’t like them too much.