‘Nat!’ Bridge yells like she can’t risk putting me down to open the door.

I wish she didn’t call for Nat because I don’t want to see her again after this morning, but now I have no choice. We wait for what feels like ages before she finally kicks open the flyscreen door.

‘Nice,’ she says, scanning my injury. Then she looks up at the three of us and I see her notice Ellie. ‘And you are?’

‘Oh, I’m Ellie.’

I glance up at my friend and see her cheeks redden under Nat’s critical gaze. I want to explain that Nat has that effect on everyone but, honestly, I’m also a little relieved that Nat isn’t being any nicer to her.

‘Move,’ says Bridge. ‘We need to get inside.’

‘Lucky you’re so small, Clem,’ says Nat.

We ignore her and push past. I can’t believe Bridge actually thought her sister had changed. I let the girls carry me to the kitchen, where Bridge slides a chair out with her foot, so that I can sit down. My knee is stinging, but I know it’s not badly hurt. All the attention is getting a bit much.

‘I’ll get the first-aid kit,’ says Bridge, treating me as if I’m a broken little kid.

‘It’s fine, Bridge. Just need a cloth and some water.’

But she’s dashed off in full medical-emergency mode. Ellie sits down near me and looks around the room. Bridge’s house isn’t like Ellie’s. Where hers is all new appliances and matching fancy fittings, Bridge’s looks lived in. Even the chairs we’re sitting on are all different. Dad approves of Bridge’s house. He likes how eclectic it is. I’m not sure how he’s going to cope in our new place. All that shiny white is not him at all.

‘This house is awesome,’ says Ellie, still staring past me at all the pots hanging from an old ladder above the kitchen bench. Apparently all those pots have different purposes, and Bridge and I are always getting told off for using the wrong ones.

‘Bridge’s mum is an amazing cook,’ I explain.

‘Lucky Bridge. My mum was a good cook, too, but Dad just can’t cut it. I miss proper meals,’ says Ellie sadly.

‘Don’t let my mum hear you say that. She’ll start cooking for you, too,’ says Bridge, returning with an armful of bandages and antiseptic. It’s like she’s raided a chemist. She dumps it all onto the dining table and swivels me around so she can get to my knee.

‘I’d love to taste your mum’s cooking,’ Ellie says, and Bridge looks up at her with a smile. There’s a rush of something through my chest, and I lift up my leg so it’s resting on Bridge’s knee.