‘What’s so funny? I’m serious, Carls.’ She takes a deep drag, before blowing a cone of smoke into my face. ‘You can’t go around forgetting about proper stuff. This is how we get ahead. We walk past the same blokes most of the time, all digging the same pointless holes … Finally we get a new lot because another load more army wives have shown up – because of course what this town really needs is more houses that look the fucking same – and you forget to take advantage?’

‘Give over,’ I splutter, grabbing for the cigarette packet sticking out of her pocket as she dodges me. ‘Is that how you got hold of this little lot, then? Or did you swipe them? Don’t tell me you’ve finally been allowed back down the shop?’

I muddle with the leaves by my feet as I steal a look at my watch. Only two minutes left before the bell goes, but I don’t rush, no way. Only Rach knows I actually like maths. The packet hits me in the cheek as she finally tosses it over.

‘Doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, I got them. You should count yourself lucky I’m sharing with you…’

I finger the plastic around the packet, tracing the letters with my thumb. Smoking Kills. Not if something else gets you first, it doesn’t. There’s another hiss as her lighter flares. I start to cough the minute the smoke hits my throat.

‘And I don’t know why I bother,’ she sighs, bush hissing disapprovingly as she stabs holes in a new clump of leaves.

I blush as I try again. I wish I was fifteen like her. It can’t be right that I can do sums better than I can smoke. This time I blow out almost straight away. She smirks as my eyes water.9

‘Your brother,’ she says, jaw clicking as she pops out a perfect smoke ring. ‘Is he staying with you tonight?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’ I try not to cough. ‘Like there’s ever any pattern to when he shows. Since he moved to the barracks he may as well have moved to the moon, learned another language for all I know. We may as well be invisible…’ I trail off, eyes still streaming.

At least when Jason was around I could pretend it wasn’t just me who had to deal with Ma, Kayleigh and our slowly collapsing house, every day springing a new problem that nothing can fix. At least when he was around I could catch at the memories floating like bubbles on the wind, popping if I dared grab at them too long. When breakfast was Ricicles, when tea was egg and chips, when bedtime was warm, soapy and clean. When everything didn’t taste of vodka, didn’t smell of burning, or wasn’t covered in ash.