I take the steps two at a time and knock on Maggie’s door, realising that it’s probably too early for her to be home from work and that, perhaps, I’m not actually here for her. Matt opens the door and there’s a large piece of white bread hanging from his mouth. He tries to smile, but there’s too much bread in the way. He gestures for me to come in.

‘I tried to find you after school,’ he says as he sits down at the table.

I walk over to the fish tank and look for the catfish, probably hiding under the rocks. Before I met Maggie, I would have tapped the glass to try to make the fish come out and swim. But she explained that doing that is equivalent to a jackhammer going off next to our heads, so now I just wait for them to emerge when they’re ready. Finally, I see a whisker and then a nose. The catfish is lurking right down in the muddy depths.

‘Do you want some bread? It’s yesterday’s, but it still tastes good.’

I head over and join Matt at the table. I cut a slice and cover it in strawberry jam and then pick off all the large lumps of strawberry.

‘Don’t you eat the fruit?’

‘Not today. Just the sugar.’

Matt laughs. ‘How was the rest of the first day of year seven?’

‘Okay,’ I say, nibbling the crust. ‘You?’

He shrugs and cuts another slice of bread. ‘Thought you might be here to go swimming,’ he says.

‘No. I’m just here for the bread.’

‘And the company, obviously,’ he says.

‘No offence, but it’s just bread I’m after.’

He smiles. We finish the loaf, barely speaking while we eat. It’s nice not to have to talk. I have questions, and I’m sure he does, too, but they can wait. Eating Maggie’s bread is too good to be interrupted by serious conversation.

As Matt screws the lid back onto a jam jar, he says, ‘I think silent bread-eating may mean that we are now officially friends, Clem.’

‘I can see Maggie’s got you tidying up,’ I say because I’m not sure how to respond; somehow I’ve made a new friend without meaning to.

He laughs as he balances the three jam jars in his hands and carries them to the kitchen.

‘I do try,’ he says, coming back in with a sponge. He wipes the table right up to where my elbows are resting. ‘Actually, I was going to cook dinner. Do you think Maggie eats sausages?’

I shrug. I have no idea what Maggie eats other than baked goods. ‘I reckon she’d eat most things,’ I say.

‘Maybe not fish,’ says Matt lightly.

‘Yeah. Bad idea.’