I shrug, but I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to wait for Anorak Man to come out. There must be a reason why he attacked me. And if he really believes nothing happened, I have to know if he’s blacked out or forgotten things before. And while I’m waiting for him to appear, I’m going to phone my mother. I have to make sense of all this somehow.

The sky darkens and the rain begins to pelt down, pattering on the roof of the glasshouse like stones and gushing down the windows in great rivulets. I used to love working here when the weather was bad. There was something about being in the warm surrounded by jungle plants and butterflies while it rained outside. It made me feel cosy.

I yank up my hood and a ball of sadness rises to my throat. This place isn’t just a job. It’s been a home to me, the visitors my family. I bite the inside of my cheek, the pain preferable to the sting of tears behind my eyes. How could I have let this happen? I’m so careful to steel myself each time I move foster family, knowing the placement might not last long. For once, I allowed myself to feel that I belong.

Tom shakes the rain from his hair. ‘Ah, there’s nothing like a refreshing shower after a hard day’s work.’ He isn’t wearing a coat and must be freezing in his work shorts and shirt. ‘Come on,’ he says, pulling his car keys from his pocket. ‘I’ll give you a lift home.’

Home. The word is a rusty nail and my mind is forever catching on it. I call it that, but it’s not really. As nice as my foster parents are, it’s just another place to sleep.

‘Thanks, but I’ll get the bus.’

He raises his eyebrows and nods towards the dilapidated bus shelter across the street. ‘Is that the mythical bus which comes twice a day if you’re lucky?’

‘Three times, if you know the right incantations to mutter.’

He shrugs. ‘OK then. I guess this is goodbye.’

‘Bye, Tom.’

He turns and jogs to his car, shielding his head with his arm and leaping over puddles as he goes. Maybe I should have told him that I’m going to miss working with him. I shake the thought from my head. I know better than to get attached to people – it’s safer to push down my feelings where they can’t hurt me, and move on.

I watch Tom open the door of his mud-splattered Volvo and then turn my attention to the exit behind me. Surely Anorak Man can’t be much longer. Realising he may not want to speak to me, I move a few paces to the side of the glass doors. If I’m lucky he won’t see me when he comes out and I can spring an ambush.

Tom’s voice calls over the noise of the rain. ‘You live in Coleford, don’t you?’