I exit the Google Maps app and I’m just about to ring Mark when I spot the WhatsApp icon at the top of the screen. Someone’s sent me a message in the last five hours. I tap on the icon and Liz’s name appears on the top of the list. Three new messages:

Where is that?

She’s replied to a photo of a row of houses I must have sent her. One of them has a sign outside that says Fallodon Way Medical Centre.

Why have you sent me a picture of a doctor’s surgery? Do you need me to pick you up or something?

Then there’s another image. One I must have sent. It says Nevil Road Surgery above the door.

Claire? Is that Mark? Who is he with?

I look closer at the photo. Yes, it is Mark and he’s standing outside Nevil Road Surgery with a willowy blonde. His hand is on her arm. I zoom in on the image. It takes me several seconds to work out who she is. It’s Edie Christian, Billy’s form tutor. And she looks worried.

Friday 24th October 2014

Jackdaw44: Why have you started ignoring me?

ICE9: I haven’t. I’m busy.

Jackdaw44:

ICE9: What’s that supposed to mean?

Jackdaw44: Bullshit. You’re not busy.

ICE9: OK. Truth. This feels a bit weird.

Jackdaw44: What do you mean?

ICE9: Us. Texting all the time. Sneaking off for secret beers. It feels … weird.

Jackdaw44: We’re not doing anything wrong. Just talking. Nothing wrong with talking.

ICE9: It feels dangerous.

Jackdaw44: How?

ICE9: You know what I mean.

Jackdaw44:

ICE9: So you do know what I mean.

Jackdaw44: I know nothing. I like hanging out with you. End of.

ICE9: I still feel weird about it.

Jackdaw44: There’s a cure for that.!

ICE9: Not today.

Jackdaw44: You suck.

Chapter 24

‘Claire?’ I jump as Liz knocks on the window of the car. Her hair is tied up in a messy topknot and there’s a smear of eyeliner smudged into the creases beneath her right eye. She looks as though she’s just woken up from a nap.

‘Can you open it?’ she mouths, signalling for me to wind down the window. I turn the handle.

‘Oh my God, Claire.’ She reaches through the gap and wraps her arms around my head, pulling me up against the door as she attempts to hug me. ‘I can’t believe it happened again.’

She lets me go, glances at the keys dangling in the ignition and holds up a hand as though warning me not to touch them. ‘I’m coming round the other side.’

She skirts around the front of the car, opens the passenger door, picks up my handbag, the photo album and Mark’s diary and plonks herself into the seat.

‘Are you okay?’ She sounds breathless from her run across the car park. ‘You’re not hurt or anything?’