‘I know where we can score some weed if you’re interested,’ Dawn said, her voice low. ‘But you have to keep it to yourself.’

‘Really?’ Morgan asked. She had tried skunk before. Her mother was always saying how good it was for your health, but given how paranoid she’d become, Morgan wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like the smell – or the way her mother acted when she was on it. Nothing got done when her mum was stoned. ‘OK then,’ she continued, regardless. Dawn had surprised her. It seemed the vicar’s daughter wasn’t so innocent after all. ‘Does everyone here know your business then?’ She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d experienced a creepy sensation of being watched from the second she’d arrived.

Dawn exhaled a stream of smoke. ‘If you fart in the morning, everyone knows what it smelt like by lunchtime.’ She laughed. ‘But they give me some leeway ’cos I’m the vicar’s daughter. When I’m eighteen, they won’t see me for dust.’

Morgan nodded in understanding. At least if she was stuck here, she’d found a kindred soul. ‘I’ve been looking for a way out too.’ She kicked a stone. ‘But I’m trapped.’

‘Your dad’s minted, ain’t he?’ Dawn gave her a queer look. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

‘How did you know?’ Morgan said, following her as she turned left on to a narrow road. She didn’t know where she was going, only that they were at the back of the shops now. Overfilled bins lined the path, along with rusted bicycles, parked cars and damp boxes piled up for recycling. A rat scurried into the undergrowth as the pair of them approached.

Gazing up at a dirt-stained window, Morgan cast an eye over the half-torn lace curtain hanging limply from its hooks. This was the real face of the village. The locals’ smiles were as fake as their window dressings, like the butcher’s shop with the plastic legs of lamb hanging from hooks or the clothes shop with dresses pulled back with bulldog clips. She had noticed it all on the way in. But the thing she noticed the most was the glare of suspicion in the villagers’ eyes. Their movements had seemed almost robotic, as if they were playing out a badly acted coffee-shop scene. Even Joanne carried a hint of malice. Was Dawn any different?

‘We know everything,’ Dawn finally answered in a theatrical voice. Grinning, she looked Morgan up and down. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not after your money. I’ve got plans of my own.’

‘I never said you were,’ Morgan said. ‘It’s not as if I can get my hands on it.’ She negotiated a frozen puddle, briefly bumping hips with Dawn as she stepped aside.