‘Surely not – come on, what’s your number?’

‘Three hundred and sixty-one,’ she whispered, staring at the bitten fingernails on her stubby fingers, which had left a sweaty print on the tabletop.

‘Ha!’ Philip shook his head, so his long fringe fell over his face. He flicked it back and deposited the rest of the Club sideways in his mouth. Everyone was too distracted to comment that his biscuit was covered with a thin coating of chocolate made predominantly from cow juice. ‘Good one! But really’ – he straightened, lifting his chin and speaking through his mouthful – ‘where did you come?’

This time she looked her brother straight in the eye.

‘I came three hundred and sixty-first out of three hundred and sixty-two. I came second last in the whole year. That means only one person did worse than me. Happy now?’ She felt the slip of fresh tears on her cheeks. She knew it didn’t matter how many times she had to repeat the number; the shame of her ranking would not lessen. Not ever.

‘Oh my God! You literally weren’t joking.’ He stared at her. ‘How the fuck did that happen?’ Philip, seemingly unmoved by her tears, asked the question that the lack of response from her parents at their son’s swearing told her they were desperate to ask also.

She swallowed and took a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘I thought I’d revised enough. I did read all the books.’ But then I kind of got distracted. This boy I like fills my head!

‘Did you make notes?’ he asked.

‘Sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘I thought I could remember most of it.’

‘And did you?’ her mum joined in.

‘I’d say not, Mother.’ Philip rolled his eyes in his mum’s direction and swallowed the last of his snack.

‘I remembered some of it,’ she explained, ‘and if I didn’t fully understand the question or felt flustered, I just wrote down all the things I did remember – quotes, anything! I wrote pages and pages and pages.’ Her bottom lip quivered at the memory of her post-exam hand ache.

‘But that’s the thing, Bessie, you can write a whole essay on Greek mythology, reams and reams of it, word perfect, but if the subject is Chemistry, then it won’t get you very far.’ Her brother’s tone was surprisingly conciliatory, and she was grateful for it. ‘Being smart and passing exams are two completely different things.’

‘There you go!’ their dad smiled. ‘Philip knows about these things!’

Of course, he does. Mr Forty-Seven.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t feel very smart.’ She wiped her tears; her breath lost its rhythm and stuttered in her throat. ‘They won’t let me go into the sixth form; they have a minimum requirement and I am way off.’