“I know, right! It was a bitch walking up all those steps. You couldn’t pay me to do it again, especially not for fun!”

“What do you mean, fun?”

“That’s what Isaac said. He told Gabe to have some fun with Al, and then Gabe said, like I did with Ruth?” She frowns and rubs a hand over her face. “Have I met Ruth? There are so many people here I’ve forgotten all their names already.”

The book falls from my hands. Masked attackers didn’t kill Ruth. Gabe did. And now they’re going to do the same to Al.

“What’s the matter?” Abigail looks at me, her lip gloss wand poised over her bottom lip, the tip gloopy and pale. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you okay?”

“No.” I stand up. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I leave her crouched beside her backpack and sprint across the bedroom and into the shower block. I throw up before I reach a toilet, spewing mango and water all over the tiles.

“Emma?” Abigail calls from the doorway. “Are you okay? Should I get someone?”

“I’m fine.” I force the tremor out of my voice. “You go back to the party. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I could get Cera—”

“No, no, don’t. I’ll be fine. Honestly. I just had too much home brew.”

“Okay …” There’s doubt in her voice so I force myself up from my knees. I hang over the sink and turn on the taps. “See,” I say as I splash tepid water over my face, “I’m fine. I’ll be right out in a minute. I just need to fix my face first. A girl can’t go to a party with mascara all down her cheeks, can she?”

I haven’t worn make-up for weeks, but Abigail, with her lip gloss freshly applied, buys the lie.

“Okay, then.” She turns to go. “I’ll see you in a bit, Emma. Nice talking to you.”