I look over at the new girl again. She has found a seat at an empty table and is reading a book while absent-mindedly eating fish fingers. I can’t make out what book it is, but she’s engrossed – or pretending to be.

I push my tray away. “Maybe standards at Seahaven are slipping.”

“I bloody hope not! My father will be furious. He is on the board of governors, after all. I should ask him – if I see him this week,” Steph says indignantly.

“She’s reading a book.” Emily is horrified at the idea.

“It’s ok to read books, Em. It might actually help you pass your exams,” I say. “You do know how to read, don’t you? I mean books without pictures?”

Eloise laughs loudly. I turn away from the hurt look that passes over Emily’s face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Eloise says abruptly and glides to her feet.

We follow like sheep, discarding our trays and trailing after our leader. Instead of taking the direct route from the canteen, she weaves towards the back, past the table where the new girl is sitting. Brian’s group is chatting loudly at the next table over. As we approach, the new girl keeps her eyes firmly on the page in front of her. I see the flash of annoyance on El’s face at being ignored, before she says loudly, “Hels, something stinks around here.” She sniffs the air. “Can you smell that?”

“Yeah, I can,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Ugh, smells like fish.” El looks pointedly at the new girl, sniffs again and says, “Yes, definitely fishy.”

The girl keeps her eyes low, but her skin flushes a darker shade.

“Ugh, disgusting!” Emily says, while Steph holds her nose dramatically.

“Brian, how can you stand sitting so close to it?” El says, fluttering her fake eyelashes.

He whistles at her and El sashays away with a flick of a smile over her shoulder.

When I look back as we leave the canteen, the girl is rigid, expressionless, still staring into her book, but I can guarantee she isn’t seeing the words on the page anymore.

3

NOW

Helen hated this room. The dark wood panelling, dim lighting and weighty maroon velvet curtains made it feel heavy and stifling. Hugh enjoyed the oppressive opulence of it, but she had always disliked it. It might appeal to Hugh’s delusions of grandeur, but reminded Helen of being banished from her parents’ endless dinner parties as a child, the air pungent with cigarette smoke and brandy fumes. Hugh insisted that they eat all their family meals here in the dining room, even though the long oak table in the kitchen, with its knobbled and dented wood, was much more of a welcoming, warming place to eat in Helen’s opinion.

Not that there was that much sharing going on.