Her mum dropped the biscuits on the tabletop and her mouth fell open. ‘Bessie! You never did!’ Her tone managed to convey both disappointment and anger. It was a neat trick. ‘I honestly don’t know what to say to you right now!’

‘Well, hello!’ Her dad’s jolly tone distracted them both. ‘And I thought we’d had all the parties we were going to have today – what am I missing out on? Your sandwich looks nice, Bessieboo. In fact, I quite fancy a snack meself with a large glass of orange squash! Or maybe milk . . .’ he announced, as if this information was newsworthy. She pushed the plate with the sandwich in his direction. His smiley face, his sweetness and his affectionate nickname caused a fresh flare of shame and distress in her gut. The temptation to run into her dad’s arms and hear him tell her it was all going to be fine was strong, but not even her lovely dad’s words of comfort could fix this pickle.

‘I’ve told her, Eddie, she shouldn’t be crying, not on her birthday.’

‘Your mum’s right.’ He took a bite of her sandwich.

‘Are you okay, Bessie?’ No one had heard Philip come in and all three stared as he stood in the hallway, leaning in, clinging to the doorframe as if out of puff, and with his eyeliner a little smudged. His tone was urgent, his chest heaving, his long fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat. Bessie’s heart skipped a beat. Breaking into a sweat, she stared at her brother, terrified he might blurt out what he had been told or what he had overheard.

‘She’s fine, Pippin,’ her mum smiled. ‘Just a bit upset about her results, which we have told her not to be, not today, on her birthday.’

‘And it’s still her birthday for another half an hour or so – she can’t officially be upset until gone midnight!’ her dad mumbled through his mouthful.

‘Oh.’ Philip stared at her. ‘I just thought . . . I didn’t know if . . . I thought you might be upset because . . . I’ve just spoken to Louise Berry, who told me—’

Bessie shot up straight with her heart beating a little too fast. ‘. . . that I was upset because of my exam results!’ she interjected, over-enunciating to make her point absolutely clear. Her blood felt thick in her veins as she recalled Philip and Carmen saying goodnight in the garden below her window, him suggesting they might have sex and Carmen flatly putting him off. And now he would know what she had done and how and where she had done it, and no doubt the whole thing would have been embellished, if Tony had had anything to do with it. She felt dirty and ashamed and stared at her brother, her expression as guilty as it was pleading.