She smiles and I can see a bit of the old Maggie coming back as she fixes her butterfly hair clip so that her wild curls hang down around her face instead of being tucked up and hidden.

‘Maybe it was. Maybe it changed its mind.’

Matt scoffs. ‘A flower can’t change its mind.’

‘Maybe it can,’ says Maggie coldly. She sips her tea, ready for him to have another go. But he doesn’t. Instead, the only noises are slurps and swallows.

‘I should go,’ I say, wanting to escape whatever strange place they are in.

‘Whatcha doing today?’

I realise Matt’s asking me. I lick the end of my finger and collect the crumbs on my plate. ‘Seeing a friend.’

He leans back in his chair, still eating. Maggie watches us and it feels like each second is crawling past slower than the last.

‘Is there anything to do around here?’

Maggie smiles behind her cup and stands up to go into the kitchen. I hear her refill the kettle as I think of an answer.

‘Yeah.’

‘Like what?’

I know what he’s doing because I do it, too. I drag out moments and make them uncomfortable for everyone else. I’m a master at this game.

‘There’s a pool, which will be packed in this heat. A skate park. And a shopping centre.’

‘What do you do?’

I start stacking the jam-smeared plates. ‘Hang out.’

‘Any tall buildings?’

Maggie coughs from the kitchen.

‘I don’t know. Maybe the cinema? Why?’

‘Matt,’ Maggie says sharply as she walks back to the table. He looks up at her, and she stares at him. I’ve never seen her face so closed.

Behind her the kettle starts to scream.

He turns to me with a strange smile. ‘The pool it is, then.’

Maggie scurries to turn off the kettle and everything feels deflated.

‘I really should go,’ I say finally.

Maggie doesn’t try to stop me. She just nods and then walks me to the door.

‘Sorry, Clem.’

‘That’s okay,’ I lie.

I let her hug me, but she doesn’t feel as soft as she normally does. I wonder if it’s because Matt is chipping away at her edges.

Chapter 3

I’m just about to change my earrings when I hear a flurry of knocking at the door. I know it’s Bridge because she doesn’t knock like other people: she always bangs out the rhythm of her favourite song for that day.

‘Coming!’ I yell.

I wedge on the backing of my silver fish earring Dad gave me for Christmas, and head for the door. That’s the one advantage of living in a flat the size of a caravan: it only takes me about three steps to get from one side to the other.