I don’t care. The boys at our school are all obnoxious and poisonous, but I’m not boy-obsessed like Bella, like she has been pretty much since she started at secondary school. But then, she’s gorgeous, whereas I get called Colossal Cooper and Tessie the Elephant every time the boys see me lumbering round the netball court. Not that Bella knows that.

I stand up and stretch. I’ve been hunched over that history essay for hours. “Want to go to the woods?” I ask, pulling the curtains wider. The sun shines in, lighting up Bella’s blond hair, making her face glow. It’s the perfect Indian summer day and, outside, the woods look lovely and cool and dark.

She shields her eyes and shakes her head. “We can’t,” she says. “The new family is throwing an impromptu barbecue—they’ve put out an open invite for the whole village.”

An hour later, Bella’s thrown on jeans and a T-shirt and looks stunning, her hair tousled, scuffed Converse on her feet. Whereas I’ve been primping for ages and still hate what the mirror tells me. I’ve spent too much time outside and my cheeks are red, my nose burnt. My hair’s a nightmare and my jeans are too tight. I’ve put on a baggy T-shirt to cover the bulges but it just makes me look fatter.

Dad’s waiting downstairs with a bottle of wine and a cake he bought from the shop to take as housewarming presents. He looks like he wants to go as much as I do, uncomfortable in a jacket and jeans, a silly grown-up weekend look that’s just plain weird on him. He doesn’t go out anymore, not since Mum died. It’s been me and him, home every night and weekend, reading our books, watching rubbish on TV, driving Bella mad as she paces about, swept along by a restless breeze we don’t even feel.

Dean House looks different from the front. I never went in that way when I was gardening there—I’ve always gone through the side gate, approaching from the woods, stealth spy style. From the front, it’s a dump, always has been, but now there’s scaffolding up, new tiles shining on the roof, new windows replacing the rotting wooden framed ones that used to be there.