I know, I know. You’re going to hate me, aren’t you? But you don’t know Kez Becker. It’s best staying on her right side and sometimes, in order to do that, you have to make harsh choices. And so I laugh at Kez’s ridiculous posh-voice mockery of Susan. Then, to make it worse, I add something of my own.

‘Followed by a piccolo lesson?’ And as the words pass my lips I feel wretched and guilty and immediately want to take them back, but it’s too late: I have sided with Kez. Quickly, I add a forced ‘ha ha!’ as insurance because I know that in a few seconds I’ll have to say, ‘It was a joke, Susan!’

Susan stops, right there in the street, and, ignoring Kez completely, turns full-on to me, blinking in hurt and surprise. She is actually stammering, she’s so upset. Her mouth quivers. ‘You … you know your problem, Malky Bell?’

I find myself going on the offensive, even though I realise I have hurt her. ‘No, Susan Tenzin. What is my problem?’ My tone is sullen and defiant.

‘You’re a snob.’

Well, that takes me by surprise.

‘I’m a snob? What – says the posh girl who plays the piccolo, who has a massive garden?’

‘Exactly. You have just proved it. You look down on me because of my background, because of who I am, and because of how I speak! None of that has anything to do with who I am, but you have decided you are better than me. Isn’t that exactly what being a snob is?’

I was angry at Susan, but I hadn’t wanted to upset her. ‘I don’t think I’m better than you.’

‘Yes, you jolly well do! You make jokes about my accent, you think that I live in a nice house and that I assume you are inferior, when all I have done is try to be friendly. You’re even ashamed to be seen getting out of my car. You have no idea, Malky, how many people at school are like you. Ooh, look at her, little Miss Perfect! Talk about judging people! So what do I do? I do what my daddy says: I keep my head down, I work hard and I join things. Orchestra, library club, COMMS – anything. I thought you were different, Malky. I really did. I thought we were friends. But you are not: you are just as snobbish as all the rest and I hate you!’

Her volume has not increased while saying this, and in fact the last bit is almost whispered. But I can see her eyes are wet. I wish I could take back what I said. I really didn’t mean to hurt her.

Just five minutes earlier I loved the way she hung on to every word I said.

‘I … I was only joking,’ I murmur.