I go first. “I’m sorry about my mother. She’s… well, she’s like that with everyone.”

“Is she though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Are you sure she’s ok with me staying?”

“Trust me, she cares more about impressing her rich friends than anything I do.”

Tracey sits on the edge of the bed. Her knee is grazed, the redness vivid against her dark skin. “It must be hard – with your mother, I mean.”

I shrug. “It’s never been any different, so you don’t miss what you don’t have, I guess.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s hardly ever here. If you’re lucky, you won’t meet him.”

I turn on the radio in an attempt to dispel the clumsy atmosphere. Disappointingly, there are only adverts playing, the jingles harsh in our ears as we eat cake without speaking. I’m wondering if maybe this was a bad idea.

“So where are these swimming costumes then?” she says as she pushes her plate away. I still have most of my cake left, but I’m pleased for the excuse to put it aside.

I jump up, rummage in one of my drawers and pull out four or five options.

“I don’t know what size. You’re much smaller than me, so these will probably be massive on you,” I say.

“Seriously? What do you actually see when you look in the mirror? You’re tiny!”

I keep my eyes on the drawer so she can’t see the heat in my cheeks. “I’m not at all. El is tiny.”

“Eloise probably doesn’t eat.”

“Yeah, I wish I had her willpower.”

I turn to see Tracey shaking her head. “Nah, I like food too much. And frankly, if someone doesn’t love me for being myself, then they aren’t worth my attention. We are what we are. If they don’t like it, that’s their problem, not mine.”

I hold out several swimming costumes and she reaches for a bright red one piece with a halter neck. “I’ll try this one, I think.”

“There’s a bathroom there.” I point at the wardrobe doors.

“What? In the wardrobe?”

I laugh and pull open the middle two doors to reveal a hidden en suite. “This is a weird house. Lots of hidden rooms.”

She steps into my bathroom. White marble, gold fittings, plush but damp towels left on the floor. “Impressive.”

I suppose it is. I’ve never thought about it.

“I share a bathroom with my brother. It’s gross,” she says. “He pees on the seat, but it’s not his fault. He can’t help it.”

She closes the door behind her and I look around me, starting to see what she sees. A spoilt brat? Someone to envy? Or someone to pity?

I quickly change into a swimming costume and throw on my dressing gown over the top.