Tonight’s the night to set Jono and his friends up as my alibis. We are holding a get-together in his dead-end squat. Frosty Jack’s, mixed with a touch of vodka. Devil’s punch, I call it. My special recipe. Served in paper cups. I am drinking lemonade, which I had decanted into an empty bottle of Frosty Jack’s. His motorbike gang are here. Jumbo, Tod and Kelly. I don’t know why Jumbo is called Jumbo. He is handsome and he isn’t fat. No peculiar features such as outsized ears. Tod is long and lean with white-blond hair. Kelly wears an earring and is heavily bearded. I am tossing back the lemonade and slurring my words.

‘Iss verrry late. I fink I neeed to go to ssleeppp.’

‘Are you all right, Hayley?’ Jono asks.

‘Nooo. I fink I need to go to bed. I’m pisssedd.’

Before I stagger to our bedroom I fix Jono one last cocktail of vodka and Jack’s. I hand it to him with a smudgy, slurred smile. I know he won’t be long out of bed. He’s up at six tomorrow.

In the bedroom I splay across the damp mattress and pretend to be asleep. Jono tumbles into the room about ten minutes later using the torch from his iPhone. He collapses on the bed beside me. As soon as the depth of Jono’s breathing indicates that he is asleep beside me, I slip out of bed, making sure my iPhone is beneath my pillow. I mustn’t take it with me.

His snoring increases until he is grunting like a truffle-hunting pig. I pull a dark tracksuit over my jeans and T-shirt. I slip out of the squat, slowly, quietly. The motorcycle gang have left, thinking I am fast asleep in bed. Jono is comatose, out for the count, thinking I am lying next to him. I set off at half past midnight, skulking in the darkness at the edge of the pavement, not wanting to be seen. Or, if seen in passing, wanting to be too uninteresting to notice.

Past Waitrose, into the centre of Esher, along the High Street. Past The Bear. Past the post office. Turning right into Lexington Drive. Past all the ‘look-at-me’ houses, every one of which I have dreamt of owning.