RORY, SINCE HE INSISTED ON THE GAME, IS THE FIRST to hide, but instead of looking for him, Nick makes himself a sandwich and takes it up the back stairs with his book to an alcove he’s found on the turn of the landing. It goes under the eaves and around the corner for a few feet. A bare bulb provides enough light to read by. At the back there are dusty carrier bags full of yellowing papers and an abandoned wasps’ nest with the odd desiccated carcass strewn round it. He brushes them away with the book. It’s muggy, the built-up heat combining with the rain. A sweet smell is overlaid by the dust burning on the light bulb.

Nick pulls the door to. The others are pounding round the house. Someone opens the door and he looks into a pair of bright blue eyes. Pansy’s. She hesitates, then closes it.

There’s a whisper, then Taisie says, loud enough for Nick to hear, ‘God, what a loser. Why doesn’t he hang out with your dad? He’s been clinging to him like a limpet all week.’

‘Come on, Taisie, that’s not fair. Who else is he meant to talk to?’

‘I don’t care. I just know that if I have to look at those pulsating spots for one more day, I’m going to top myself. He makes me feel sick.’

He holds his breath and shrinks back into the shadows, feels a spider’s web tickling his ear and bats it away. Their voices fade and he opens his book, already regretting bringing Machiavelli rather than Bernard Cornwell, and has to force himself to stay awake. There’s a movement behind the door, a thud and shift, and he braces, hoping it’s Alex or Rory. But it isn’t: it’s Izzy.

She puts her finger on her lips, then crawls in and tucks herself into the small space beside him, bare skinny knees pressing against his hairy shins, before reaching for the door and pulling it shut.

‘What’s up, Shrimpy?’ he says.

‘Taisie’s going to stop soon.’

He pretends not to know what she’s on about. ‘Stop what?’

‘You know. This. The Invisible Nick game.’

‘Oh that,’ he says. ‘I don’t care about that.’

‘It’s hot in here.’

‘It stores heat,’ Nick explains. ‘It’s like there’s days of it packed in.’

The rain patters on the tiles above them, a constant, comforting sound.

‘It feels like we’re on a boat,’ Izzy says.

‘It does.’

She yawns and leans against him, and he tilts his head against hers. Her hair is silky and smells of grapefruit shampoo.

‘Do you still like Taisie?’

Nick shrugs. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’

‘She’s being mean.’

‘Sometimes girls do that.’