‘But I kind of like him. In fact, more than kind of – I like him! I like Lawrence.’ She bit her lip, clearly awaiting Bessie’s response.

The words rang in her ears. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? What would Michelle say when she knew that her ship of dreams had sailed and that she, Bessie, and Lawrence were a couple in all but name and announcement – they had had sex nine times. Nine times!

‘Here’s the thing . . . we do need to talk,’ Bessie said as the school building came into view. I’ll tell you the whole story on the way home. With more time and our results out of the way, I’ll tell you the truth that Lawrence and I have been meeting for sex and it’s fabulous. I really like sex! And the truth is, I really like him. I think we’re very close to going official. ‘Can we pick up about it after we’ve got our results? It feels like too big a subject to rush here on the pavement.’ She wanted more time, unsure of how to broach the subject or, more specifically, how to justify having kept it from her friend.

‘Sure.’

A cloud of unease descended upon them. It was unknown, uncomfortable territory, this awkwardness with the girl she peed in front of, shared a bed with, chatted to until the early hours and did her darndest to look like. Such was the weight of the moment that she almost forgot they were about to walk into school and find out their exam results.

Michelle took her hand, and she was glad of it. A reminder that they as a duo were bigger than the fancying of any boy, stronger than the meddling words of Tony Dunlop.

‘So what do you think, low hundreds?’ Michelle asked.

‘Fingers crossed.’ Bessie chose not to divulge that she thought possibly inside a hundred – there were, after all, three hundred and sixty-two pupils in the year and she figured she would likely make the top third. Good grades would mean a breeze for the next two years of school, acceptance into the sixth form, and her ticket, quite literally, to the skies . . .

‘Let’s do this!’