She was in no hurry to get home, her mum wasn’t exactly a worrier, and Kym had the feeling that she might welcome some time on her own. Recently she’d started to talk about the future, not just this year’s exams, but A levels and uni and Kym moving out. She didn’t seem too unhappy about this prospect; they were talking about it to get used to the idea, Kym thought, the both of them.

You couldn’t quite see her gran’s cottage from here, but Kym could more or less place it among the jumble of red roofs to her right. Bishops Yard. She used to think the name connected it to the abbey, until her gran had pointed out it was more likely to be named for the family that had once lived there, despite the lack of an apostrophe. Greens Yard, Lengs Yard, Blackburns Yard, even – to the amusement of tourists – Arguments Yard had all been named for the families that once had occupied them; the streets here told all sorts of stories, if only people thought to look.

Nell Galilee had seemed nice enough; maybe she’d let Kym have a look around one day, if the babysitting thing didn’t come off. She’d have to find a way to ask.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her bag, her heart sinking when she saw who was calling.

Tyler. She’d managed to avoid him at school, where he was making a show of ignoring her, and where no one knew about the calls and the texts, because it was not cool to be seen to be wanting her back. But apparently he wasn’t taking the hint.

She didn’t answer. She was in no mood to talk to him, and when the buzzing stopped only to be replaced moments later by the soft chime that indicated she had a message, she didn’t open that either.

They were done, and it was about time he got used to the idea.

About time the both of them did.

*

‘Kym? Is that you?’

‘No. It’s Taylor Swift.’

Kym dropped her bag by the stairs and went into the kitchen. Her mum, Kate, was sitting at the kitchen table, a cigarette in one hand, a book in front of her. She was wearing one of Kym’s T-shirts, Debbie Harry scowling in front of black and white parallel lines.

‘Be a pet then, Taylor love, and stick the kettle on.’

‘Have you been going through my stuff again?’

‘I didn’t think you’d mind. What’s wrong? Too young?’ Kate looked down at herself, squinting. ‘Doesn’t it suit me?’

‘That’s not the problem, Mum.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’