‘Wait, do you not fancy Lakefield or something?’ Kate asked, not looking at her. She was still in her pyjamas but was painting her nails with something glittery, splashing polish all over the top of her scuffed, white wooden dresser.

‘But we don’t have any money,’ Ellen pointed out.

Kate made a face. ‘True. But I’m sure my dad will give us some for a Frappuccino or something.’ Kate dabbed paint on her right pinkie. ‘Shit,’ she added, as she spilled some more on the dresser. She looked up. ‘Please, Elly. I can’t sit here all day, my mum is driving me mad. We don’t have to go round the shops.’

Ellen deliberated. It would be the evening before they spoke. Neither of them was ever online during the day.

‘Oh, fine,’ she relented, smiling. ‘But you have to buy me a Frappuccino. And get my bus fare.’

‘Deal,’ Kate grinned. ‘Can we just wait for my nails to dry and then we’ll walk to the bus stop?’

‘Yeah, of course.’ Ellen was sitting on Kate’s bed, one leg curled, one leg outstretched. She leaned back against the wall, and watched as Kate blew on every nail in turn, twice.

Ellen spent longer in town than she’d intended to. Once they were there, Kate – of course – managed to persuade her into a few of the shops, linking Ellen’s arm and steering her through the doors. It was a warm and sunny day, and Ellen was overdressed in grey skinny jeans and black pleather jacket. Up and down the grey high street, women walked in floaty kaftans and flip-flops, unearthed that weekend from the loft. Yesterday had been sunny too, and much of the flesh on display was pink and slightly shiny.

When Ellen finally arrived home, she dealt a few monosyllabic pleasantries to her parents and mooched on the sofa, flicking through the music channels, to kill the time before dinner. By 6 p.m., she felt like she was about to sit an exam, her stomach flipping, her pulse fluttering in her throat.

After dinner, she went up to her room and lowered herself into her desk’s swivel chair. She wrapped herself in the felt blanket that lived on the back of the chair. She logged into MSN Messenger. It was almost 7 p.m. Would he be online already, waiting for her? Her stomach flipped again.

She jumped: owen_willett69 had sent her a message.

owen_willett69: hey how u

She ignored it. She set her status to a Stones lyric. There was such a thrill in setting a public status intended only for him to read. Ellen paid a lot of attention to his statuses, which he changed less regularly than she did. This made decoding each one even more of a treat.

He was online. 7.04 p.m.

She waited for him to say hello. Usually, she wouldn’t mind initiating, but this evening, it felt important – symbolic – that he be the person to say something first.