I blew my nose again. ‘It’s a long story …’

‘Did Maren do something?’

‘No. It was all my fault.’

‘Was it something to do with the diary you gave Tom?’

‘Not exactly.’

There was a weird feeling in the air but I put it down to what had just happened. ‘Well, what was it?’

‘I screwed up again.’

‘How, exactly?’

I couldn’t even begin to explain it all again. I was devastated, absolutely devastated.

We reached the end of the dirt road and turned left on to the main road that ran along the edge of the fjord. I looked down at the ruffled water and the trees swaying in the wind. It had started to rain heavily, and in the distance flashes of lightning lit up the sky.

The car had fallen silent, nothing but the drum of the rain on the roof and the groan of thunder filling the quiet. I tried to think of something to say to fill the space. I wanted to explain myself to someone, and above all I wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, that it wasn’t real. But it was: I was being sent back to England. I was homeless. And I had nobody in the world to turn to.

‘How is your writing going?’ I said after a while. My voice sounded thin and broken.

Derry turned to me and narrowed her eyes as though I’d just asked if she’d gained ten pounds.

‘Why did you ask that?’

I blinked. ‘No reason. Just … making conversation …’

She turned back to study the road. The car fell silent again. ‘The night I saw you with Clive,’ Derry said suddenly. ‘Did you sleep with him?’

I stared at her. ‘Did I sleep with who?’

She smiled, showing all her teeth. Her eyes glittered darkly. ‘You heard me. I saw the way you looked at him. You slept with Clive, didn’t you?’

‘No!’ I said. What on earth was she saying? Perhaps she was playing some kind of prank, I thought, and my devastation at leaving was making me miss the punchline. Either way, it was kind of cruel, and I felt uneasy.

She cocked her head. ‘Did you want to?’

I noticed she was driving faster and faster. The speedometer read 145kph and the rain was making it difficult to see.

‘Derry,’ I said, clutching on to my seat belt. ‘Do you think we can slow down?’

‘Not until you answer my question,’ she said, and she pressed the accelerator, lurching us forward. 160kph.

I went to shout for her to let me out, but just then the fog around my brain cleared and a question beamed bright: Derry had asked whether my leaving was something to do with the diary.

How did she know it was a diary?

‘I swear I didn’t sleep with Clive,’ I said. ‘I swear I didn’t want to, either.’