That Friday evening and the rest of the weekend passed as normal – which was to say that she spent most of it obsessively thinking about him and what could possibly be coming. On Saturday, she went to sleep over at Kate’s. It was a week until allowance day, and neither of them had any money to try going out, so they spent the evening watching films in the snug and eating bowls of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. Ellen felt weird not telling Kate about the conversation, but she also didn’t want to tell her, in case her friend said something that might ruin it.

On Sunday morning, they woke up and Ellen had made her excuses a little earlier than usual.

‘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.