Since then, they’d seen each other every day even if it was just for a few minutes in the school library during break time. But Claire’s favourite times with him were when he took her down to the woods, him leading her through the maze of paths as they talked. He could be moody and uncommunicative, but Claire had learnt how to draw him out and little by little, he opened up. He told her about Gavin and his pranks, his dreams of being a doctor, and a little about his friend Brian. He talked about his dad and his ferocious temper and how he and his mum had to assess his mood each day. How he and his mum had a secret code to signal warnings to each other.

Claire’s whole body had trembled as she listened to his stories of violence and how he and his mother did everything they could to avoid it. Paul told her that she, Claire, was his lighthouse in the storm and whenever his home or school life got really bad, he would think of her and it would make him feel better. She’d fallen silent then, determined that she would show him how he deserved to be loved, and as they continued sharing their dreams and talking about a future, she knew she could see him in it.

*

Claire lifted the gate and walked up the pathway to Paul’s. She’d been thinking about her birthday party, which the Queen Bees had held the previous weekend. It had been incredible – the best party she’d ever been to. The only person missing though was Paul and she was eager to see him. It was four o’clock on a Monday afternoon and she’d come straight from school. He’d skipped the last class of the day and told her to meet him at his house.

She rang the bell and heard someone coming down the stairs and within seconds Paul had opened the door and let her in. She wondered if Mrs Jones was home and her question was answered when she came, apron-clad, into the hallway.

‘Claire, how nice to see you again. How are you? How are your parents?’

‘They’re good, thank you, Mrs Jones. How are you?’

‘Please, call me Maureen.’

‘Okay… Maureen,’ she replied with a smile. Claire knew she was good with parents – she always had been. She didn’t really know why – maybe because she had good manners. Her own mother had drilled them into her from what felt like the minute she was born, but she would only become aware later in life that it was her wholesome image that made all parents secretly wish they had a child like Claire.

‘Come through. I’ve been baking,’ invited Maureen, walking through to the kitchen. ‘I hear someone celebrated a special birthday at the weekend.’

Claire smiled. ‘Yes, it was on Saturday.’