Marilyn told me Miss Andrews wanted to have a word with me before lessons the next morning. I immediately felt anxious, wondering what I’d done wrong. Or had something happened at home? Was that why Mum hadn’t come to see me? I got myself so worked up that I could hardly take in what Miss Andrews was saying to me.

‘You’ve settled in nicely here, Laura. I must admit, I was a little worried. We’ve never had a girl as young as fourteen before, and you don’t seem the most sophisticated of young ladies.’ She smiled at me, as if this was a compliment. ‘I’m pleased that you’ve made some friends here. You seem particularly attached to Belinda.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘She’s a very good choice for a friend. A very kind, caring girl. A good role model. So I wondered if you’d like to join her and Jeannie in the tower room now that there’s a vacant bed? I would usually suggest one of the girls in the cubicles who has been here a while, but I think in this case you deserve it. Your teachers all speak very highly of you, and Marilyn says you’re eating up nicely now, though you really must drink more milk, my dear.’ She started a little lecture about the importance of protein and calcium for me and my growing baby, but I’d stopped listening.

Had she really said I could sleep in the lovely rosy tower room with Belinda?

‘Laura?’ said Miss Andrews. I was obviously looking dazed.

‘When can I move in, Miss Andrews?’ I asked.

‘Right away,’ she said. ‘Clear your cubicle, fetch some clean bedding, and put your possessions in the tower room. It won’t matter if you miss a little maths for once. Off you pop then!’

I did as she said – but then stuck my head back in the door of her study. ‘Miss Andrews, do you think my mum’s all right? She didn’t come to see me on Sunday,’ I said.

‘Well, I don’t think you can expect her to come every weekend, dear, not when it’s such a long journey. But I was planning to phone her this week, just to put her mind at rest, so I’ll check for you,’ she said.

I hoped she might offer me a chance to speak to Mum too, but she waved her hand dismissively and I didn’t like to persist in case she changed her mind about the tower room. I felt a stab of pure joy as I carted all my stuff there. I felt guilty about taking Monica’s place, of course, but that wasn’t my fault, after all. It would be such heaven to be with Belinda all the time. Even Jeannie wasn’t quite as tough as she made out. I very much hoped we’d get along, the three of us together.

I whispered the good news to Belinda when I crept back into the classroom. She was looking unusually pale and subdued but her face lit up when she heard me.

‘That’s fantastic!’ she said, and she squeezed my hand tight.

Even Jeannie stuck her thumb in the air when she knew. ‘Though I hope to God you don’t snore,’ she added.

‘I don’t think I do,’ I said, taking her seriously.

‘Well, if you do I’ll twist your nose off,’ said Jeannie, pretending to do so, but she was laughing.

We had a little celebration in the tower room that evening. Belinda’s mother had brought her a wonderful bag of treats on Sunday. She had new nylons, lilac soap and a bottle of Coty L’Aimant perfume, a big purple box of Cadbury’s chocolates, a fruit cake with icing and marzipan, and three small bottles of Babycham with a jar of cherries and some cocktail sticks!

Belinda was so generous. I still rather resented letting Jeannie borrow The World of Suzie Wong, especially as she seemed a desperately slow reader and had only managed a couple of chapters so far. Belinda put the nylons in her locker but happily said we could all use the pink lilac soap when we had our baths, and she sprayed us with perfume so that the tower room smelled like the cosmetic department in a big store. She let us choose three chocolates each, cut us a big slice of cake using her nail file for a knife and made us each a Babycham cocktail in our water glasses. I’d never had Babycham before. The bubbles went up my nose and seemed to carry on fizzing all over my body.

We clinked glasses and drank to me, the new tower girl.

‘And we’ll drink to Monica and little Michael too,’ said Belinda. ‘Let’s hope they’re both happy somehow. I read a story in a magazine where a woman had to give up her baby, and then ten years later she was on a beach when she saw a whole bunch of children from Dr Barnado’s and one of the little girls spotted her – and they knew each other just by instinct and flew into each other’s arms.’

‘Do you think that could really happen?’ said Jeannie sceptically.

‘Maybe. Anyway, it was a beautiful story. It made me cry,’ said Belinda.

‘Belinda, you won’t let them talk you out of keeping Peter, will you?’ I asked.

‘Of course not!’ she said fiercely.

‘Even if they keep on and on at you?’

‘No, it’s all fixed. My dad’s got a big pub and there are heaps of spare rooms upstairs. It’ll be easy for Rick and me to have one of the big rooms, with the baby in with us just at first. Dad’s fussing a bit about it, but Mum will talk him round, she always does. Then as soon as Rick’s finished his apprenticeship he’ll be earning good money and we can get our own flat. We’ll be married by then, of course.’ Belinda looked at her ring, glinting in the rosy lamplight.

I looked sharply at Jeannie, daring her to say anything to spoil Belinda’s story, but this time she didn’t even raise her eyebrows. Maybe Jeannie needed to believe it now. We were all so shocked that Michael had been stolen away from Monica so quickly.

I still felt a little anxious about Mum, but the next few days were wonderful all the same. I felt closer to Belinda and even Jeannie than I’d ever been with Nina – I didn’t care that she was Patsy’s best friend now. I had Belinda as my best ever friend, and Jeannie my second-best friend. I knew Mum would feel Belinda looked a little tarty at times and would condemn Jeannie as downright common – but I didn’t care. Mum generally had a harsh opinion of everyone, saying they were either common as muck or much too la-di-da. She ridiculed them all. She was even scornful of Dad, fussing about his accent and his grammar and his habit of cutting his toenails over the Daily Express in the living room. The only person she thought halfway perfect was me, and that was mostly because she felt she’d brought me up properly. Only now, of course, I’d broken her heart by becoming a schoolgirl mum.

I hadn’t realized quite how much it had affected her until I got the letter from Dad. We rarely sent letters in our family. Mum had had the same pad of Basildon Bond and small pack of envelopes in the tablecloth drawer ever since I could remember. Dad had used a page of it. It wasn’t lined, as Mum thought that was common too. He wasn’t used to writing on a blank page so his words went up and down as if they were bobbing about on a rough sea.

Dear Laura,

What are you playing at? That Matron of this Home your in was on the blower to Mum, saying you was upset she didnt come and visit. What are you trying to do, make out were bad parents? Weve dun our best for you and yet this is how you repay us. Rubbing our nose in the fact we aint got the cash for long jurneys clean across the country. Espeshally as Mum went all the way with you before and arrived home utterly exorsted.

Shes still very bothered with her nerves, not fit for work. She just cries and cries her blooming hart out, pore sole. Im not having you making it worse for her. You’ve made your bed and you must lie in it. Don’t expect to see Mum or me for that matter till after.

I know this is hard but remember this is hard for us too, very very hard. I burst into tears on a coach trip the other day just thinking about it all and made a rite fool of myself in front of all the punters.

Love from Dad

I crumpled the letter into a tight little ball and stuffed it in my pinafore pocket.

‘Bad news?’ Belinda asked softly.

I shrugged, pressing my lips tight together.

‘Is it from Daniel?’ she persisted.

Jeannie looked interested now too. ‘So he’s written back to you, has he?’

I was too distraught to pretend. ‘It’s a horrible, mean, vile letter from my dad, saying the most terrible things,’ I said, and I burst into tears.

Belinda and Jeannie took me up to the tower room and tried to calm me down.

‘Can we look at it?’ Belinda asked.

I’d normally hide it away because I didn’t want anyone to mock my dad’s bad grammar and spelling, but I was so hurt and angry now I didn’t care. I did my best to smooth out the piece of paper, unwrapping it gingerly as if the words would fly out and sting me.

I thought Belinda might cry too and Jeannie might laugh, but they both seemed nonplussed.

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Jeannie. ‘He doesn’t swear or call you names. You should have heard my dad when he found out about me. He came out with such a mouthful and he slapped me from here to next week.’

I wasn’t sure if she was exaggerating or not. I had to admit Dad had never sworn at me or smacked me.

‘And he says he loves you,’ said Belinda.

‘No he doesn’t,’ I said.

‘Look, “Love from Dad”,’ she quoted.

‘Yes, but that’s just the way he’s finished the letter. I don’t think he does love me any more. Or Mum,’ I said.

‘Of course they love you. That’s why they’re so upset,’ said Belinda.

‘They’re just worried about what people will say. That’s why they’ve stuck me here,’ I said, and I started howling properly. ‘What if they never let me come home?’

‘Don’t get so upset, it’s bad for your baby,’ said Belinda. ‘Of course they’ll let you come home, silly.’

‘But not with a baby,’ I wailed.

‘Your Daniel and his folks are going to look after you, aren’t they?’ said Jeannie.

‘But what if they don’t?’

‘Well then, maybe you could come and live at our pub too,’ said Belinda.

‘What about me?’ said Jeannie. ‘Could I come too?’

‘But you’re not keeping your baby,’ I said.

‘I know. But I still don’t think my mum and dad will have me back. I haven’t always lived with them, even before. Miss Andrews said I might have to live in a hostel place, but it sounds dreadful.’

‘Then we’ll all live there together, in the pub,’ said Belinda. ‘We could help out in the bar. Laura, you’re a bit young, but you could help in the kitchen some of the time.’

‘I can’t really cook,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t I go out to work? I’ll be fifteen soon.’

‘OK, what do you want to do then?’ Belinda asked. ‘You’re pretty brainy. I expect you could get a job in an office.’

‘Well, I know it sounds daft, but I’d actually like to be an actress,’ I said.

‘Oh, I’d like that too,’ said Belinda. ‘Hey, we could all be actresses and take turns to be in plays and films. We could make sure there was always one of us not working so we could look after the babies.’

We made plans excitedly, planning our lives as if we were three girls in a comic strip story. Even Jeannie joined in. We got so carried away we were fifteen minutes late for lessons and got into trouble, but we didn’t care. And I tried to stop caring about Dad and Mum too. I decided I didn’t need them now, not now I had my friends.

I wrote Mum and Dad a postcard though. At first it was going to be a furiously indignant message, saying I didn’t give a stuff what they thought, and I was still their daughter, wasn’t I, so how could they be so hateful, and it wasn’t really my fault anyway, I hadn’t meant to have a baby. But I waited several days until I’d calmed down a little and then wrote:

Dear Mum and Dad,

I was upset when I got your letter, Dad. I’m sorry you’re so angry. And I’m sorry you’re so upset, Mum. Please get better soon.

I do understand that you can’t come and see me. It’s just that I was worried about you. It’s not too bad at Heathcote House and I have some lovely new friends, but I miss you both so much.

Love from Laura xx

I meant every word of the letter, but it was also an artful one. I wanted them to feel sorry for me. I needed them to be on my side. Because I’d made up my mind. I was definitely going to keep my baby now.

I wrote another postcard too. I pretended it was to Daniel, but it was really to Moira. There was another girl recently arrived at Heathcote House, so I wasn’t the new girl any more. She was called Sarah, sixteen years old, pale and thin apart from her big bump, and she had bright red hair scraped back with an Alice band. She was a grammar school girl too, so Miss Andrews tried to pair us up together, thinking we would get on because we were both supposedly clever.

I didn’t actually like Sarah at all, because she was so religious that she acted like a real prig. She felt we’d all sinned against Jesus. The girls in the cubicles said she went down on her knees every night and prayed for forgiveness. I steered clear of her as much as possible, but her red hair reminded me of Moira and I realized I was missing her a lot, far more than Nina.

Dear Moira,

I’m so sorry I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to you. I had to go and stay here straight away. It’s a bit like a boarding school like those Twins at St Clare’s books you borrowed. You can keep them if you like. We even have midnight feasts sometimes!

I miss our chats on the way to and from school. I hope everything’s OK with you and that the new baby isn’t crying so much now.

Take care.

Love from Laura xx

I didn’t say exactly what ‘here’ was, but I put the address and she wrote back by return of post. She wrote on a torn-out page from her homework book, and reused an old envelope, but she managed a proper stamp.

Dear Laura,

I was ever so pleased to get your postcard! Is Heathcote House in the village on the picture? Your mum said you was ill and had to stay in a sanatorium somewhere until you were better, but she was maybe kidding me. I think I know why you’ve gone, because you were getting quite fat about the tum, but I won’t say a word to anyone. It doesn’t matter in the slightest to me, you’re still my best friend and I look up to you and miss you ever so much.

Lots of love from your friend Moira xxxxxxxxxxx

I burst into tears.

‘Oh God, your dad hasn’t written you another horrid letter, has he?’ Belinda asked anxiously.

‘No, it’s a really lovely letter from a good friend at home,’ I sobbed.

She looked surprised. ‘Really? I thought you said she’d broken up being friends with you?’

I’d told her a little bit about Nina during long night-time conversations. I hadn’t said she was Daniel’s sister. The boy I talked about at Heathcote House had become a different Daniel altogether, gentle, tender and concerned. This imaginary one had taken me to play tennis every day and the imaginary me had learned quickly, and we’d won a cup for mixed doubles at our club. Jeannie scoffed, turned over, and went to sleep. I wasn’t sure even Belinda believed me, but now I’d invented him I couldn’t stop.

I hadn’t mentioned Moira before.

‘She lives up the road from me and goes to my school,’ I said. ‘Oh, I wish I could see her!’

‘Perhaps she’ll come and visit you?’ Belinda asked.

She knew I was finding the weekends difficult. Jeannie didn’t get any visitors either, but she didn’t seem to care. Maybe she was good at pretending too.

Belinda had visitors every weekend, mostly just her mother but her father came once. He was a big bluff man, good-looking in a chubby way, with an expensive suit and a big gold initial ring.

‘Daddy!’ Belinda cried out, like a little kid, and she flew into his arms. It was painful watching them.

‘Belinda’s so lucky,’ I murmured to Jeannie.

Jeannie was too absorbed in her book to reply. My book. She was still only halfway through, though she’d had it weeks. Her lips moved as she read, mouthing the words.

I’d reread the whole of Madame Bovary, read my Katherine Mansfield stories too, and borrowed Black Beauty from the living room. I didn’t usually like pony books, but thought this one was very moving and made me cry.

Miss Andrews spotted me going downstairs in tears. ‘Oh dear, Laura, what’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Ginger’s just died!’ I said miserably.

‘What?’ Miss Andrews seized hold of me, looking horrified.

‘It’s this lovely lady horse in Black Beauty. She’s got this wicked owner who’s just beaten her to death!’ I said.

‘For goodness’ sake, Laura!’ said Miss Andrews, letting me go, and leaning against the wall. ‘For one terrible moment I thought you meant something had happened to Sarah! I’ve heard some of the girls calling her Ginger.’

‘Oh!’ I said, feeling silly. I’d heard the girls calling Sarah many nicknames far worse than Ginger. No one liked her because she was so creepily pious and preached at everyone. ‘Sorry, Miss Andrews.’

‘Still, I like it that you’re such an ardent reader. It’s very touching that you should get so moved to tears by a story book,’ she said.

‘I seem to be crying all the time nowadays. Nurse March says it’s my hormones,’ I said.

I’d started crying whenever I went to the nursery with Belinda. The babies all seemed so little and helpless. I loved to watch Belinda scoop Peter up and hold him close in her arms but some of the others wailed forlornly all by themselves. I knew that all their mothers fed them regularly and Nurse March often picked them up herself and changed their nappies and gave them a little top-up of bottled milk – but they still seemed so sad, as if they already knew they were going to be sent away with strangers.

Nurse March was brisk with me, but Miss Andrews seemed concerned.

‘Are you still very homesick, dear?’ she asked.

‘Not really,’ I said, truthfully enough, because I knew Mum and Dad wouldn’t welcome me back in my condition.

‘And what does Dr Fuller say?’ Miss Andrews asked.

He came to Heathcote House once a week and saw each of us for ten minutes in a small room adjacent to Miss Andrews’ study. It had once been a dressing room, but now it was an undressing room, because we had to lie on our backs on an examining table exposing our stomachs while he prodded them gently. Then we had to sit and answer embarrassing questions about our weight and bowel habits and whether we’d experienced any ‘spotting’. I’d misunderstood the first time and thought he was asking if I had any spots, so I said, ‘I get one on my nose occasionally,’ and made him laugh. He was quite a nice man, younger and kinder than Dr Bertram, but I still felt awkward with him.

‘He said I seemed in tip-top condition,’ I said, quoting him directly.

‘Well, that’s good,’ said Miss Andrews, but I think she was still worried about me because a few days later my social worker, Mrs Jeffries, came to see me.

I was called out of lessons so I could see her in the living room. Marilyn brought us both a cup of tea and a plate of custard creams.

‘Very thoughtful of you, dear. How are you getting on?’ Mrs Jeffries asked her, as if Marilyn were one of her charges.

I thought Marilyn would bristle but she just ducked her head and murmured, ‘Fine, thanks,’ and scuttled out of the room.

‘Nice girl,’ Mrs Jeffries murmured.

I nodded, though Marilyn always seemed a bit colourless to me. She didn’t talk much. She sighed when I proved pretty useless in the kitchen and couldn’t get up a good shine on the floor, but she didn’t really tell me off. She seemed in a world of her own most of the time, though she was quite friendly with Belinda. Several times I’d found them sitting on the back doorstep together, having a cigarette and gossiping.

I wanted to try smoking too, because it looked so sophisticated, but Belinda wouldn’t let me.

‘It’ll be bad for your baby,’ she said, tutting, and Marilyn nodded in agreement.

‘Do you know Marilyn, Mrs Jeffries?’ I asked.

‘We’re not here to talk about Marilyn, dear, we’re here to talk about you. How are you feeling?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled.

‘You certainly look well. Nice colour in your cheeks. And you’ve made some friends here?’ she persisted.

I nodded.

‘But a bit weepy sometimes?’

I shrugged.

‘Missing Mum?’

I shook my head.

‘I think you are, you know,’ she said, reaching out and patting my hand. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still very young. I was sent away to boarding school when I was a girl and I remember absolutely aching with homesickness.’

She was trying to be comforting, but our circumstances were hardly similar.

‘Mum’s missing you, you know. And I’m sure Dad is too,’ she continued.

‘No they’re not,’ I muttered. ‘They’re ashamed of me. They don’t want me at home because they’re scared what people will say.’

‘They’re concerned about you, Laura. They want the best for you. You can’t blame them for that. They don’t want you to ruin your life. Once your baby is born and has a new mummy and daddy then they’ll welcome you back with open arms and you can make a whole fresh start,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want that?’

‘I want my baby,’ I said.

‘Now you’re just being silly. You’re much too young to look after a baby. You have no idea how hard it can be. And it would be remarkably selfish of you to deny your child a wonderful new carefree life with two parents. You’d be tying a label round its neck for ever,’ she persisted.

I didn’t quite understand what she meant. I imagined a little baby with an actual label round its little neck, scratching at it. Mrs Jeffries saw I was looking blank.

‘You don’t want people to call your baby names,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not fair, but there’s still a dreadful stigma about being illegitimate.’

‘I don’t care,’ I said sulkily.

‘You might not, but your child might. But don’t let us get into an argument at this stage. I’m concerned about you at the moment. I’m pleased the doctor thinks you’re in fine shape. I believe your due date is in early May? How do you feel about giving birth? There’s no need to worry, you know. You’re likely to have a quick, easy birth as you’re so young. And they’ll give you gas and air of course.’

‘Gas and air?’ I said, bewildered. Gas? That was how people killed themselves, wasn’t it, by sticking their head in their gas oven?

‘It’s for when the pain gets really bad,’ said Mrs Jeffries. She looked at me. ‘Laura, you do know how babies are born, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said – though I didn’t really know much about it at all. When I was little I’d asked Mum about babies, and she said the doctor brought them in his big bag. Of course I knew that wasn’t true now. I knew that babies grew in their mother’s tummy. I could often feel my own child, making little fluttery movements, stretching its small arms and legs. I knew where it came out, more or less, and I’d guessed it probably hurt a bit because periods certainly did, but Mrs Jeffries seemed to be suggesting it would hurt tremendously.

I’d heard some of the girls who’d already given birth chatting to each other, and one said she’d screamed so loud the nurses had told her off, but I’d thought she’d been crying because she didn’t want the baby. I was alarmed now to think she’d been screaming in pain.

‘You look rather taken aback,’ said Mrs Jeffries, and she patted my hand again, as if I was a little dog needing reassurance. ‘It’s not for months and months, so there’s no need to worry about it just now. I would make the most of this middle stage. It’s the best time, no morning sickness, and yet your bump’s still manageable.’

I wasn’t finding my bump at all manageable now. I hated looking at it when I had my twice-weekly bath. It didn’t look like my tummy at all, and my belly button was turning inside out in an alarming way. My breasts bothered me too. They were swelling up and wouldn’t fit comfortably into my small bra any more. Nurse March said this was perfectly normal and told me to write home to ask for new underwear.

I had resolved not to write to Mum and Dad again. They hadn’t replied to my last postcard. I couldn’t believe they could be so hard-hearted. If they didn’t want me as a daughter any more then I wouldn’t want them as parents.

Mrs Jeffries misread my expression. She clearly thought I was still fussing about giving birth. ‘There will be a nurse with you at the hospital when you’re having your baby, and I’m sure she’ll be very kind and encouraging, but I could ask if you could possibly have your mother with you too, as you’re so young.’

This truly alarmed me. We’d never had that sort of intimate relationship. It would embarrass us both terribly. I didn’t want a strange nurse with me either. The whole process sounded so bizarre and undignified it would be like someone watching you go to the lavatory.

‘I don’t want my mum there, thank you,’ I said quickly.

Mrs Jeffries shook her head at me. ‘You’re a funny little scrap, Laura. I don’t quite know what to make of you. I have to write an assessment of you but I don’t really know what to put. You’re well physically, thank goodness, but otherwise you seem a bit in a muddle.’

I thought that was actually a fair assessment, so I just shrugged.

‘How would you describe how you’re feeling, Laura?’

‘As well as can be expected?’ I suggested. I just parroted the phrase because I’d heard Mum use it – but for some reason it made Mrs Jeffries burst out laughing.

‘Well, you’ve still got a sense of humour even if you are depressed!’ she said.

I didn’t know she thought I was depressed. It bothered me.

‘My social worker says she thinks I’m depressed,’ I said in the tower room that night, when we were lolling in bed, eating up the last of Belinda’s fruit cake. ‘Do you two think I am? Why is she fussing about it? And why did she keep asking silly questions?’

‘Oh, they all do that,’ said Belinda. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘They worry if you cry a lot. They’re scared you might top yourself,’ said Jeannie.

‘Oh, goodness!’ I said, alarmed. ‘Well, I won’t cry any more – or only in secret.’

‘Yeah, but you can’t win. They’ll think you’re repressing your emotions then. My social worker keeps wanting me to open up and tell her what I’m really thinking. And of course what I’m really thinking is, “Why don’t you shut up, you nosy old cow” but I don’t think that would go down too well, would it?’ said Jeannie.

‘She was also going on about when I actually have my baby. Having gas! You didn’t have gas, did you, Belinda?’

‘Gas and air. I did for a bit – but then it made me feel sick and dizzy, so I wouldn’t take it any more. I wanted to concentrate on pushing the baby out,’ she said.

‘Does it hurt a lot?’ I asked.

‘Well … the worst pain ever, I suppose,’ Belinda said.

‘Worse than really awful toothache?’ I asked, remembering the time I’d had an abscess on my tooth.

Belinda and Jeannie laughed at me.

‘Toothache!’ Jeannie scoffed.

‘Well, I don’t know, do I? I’ve never had a baby. And neither have you!’

‘Yeah, but I’m not entirely clueless. Think of the size of a baby’s head. And then think of where it comes out,’ said Jeannie.

I thought about it, and shivered.

‘But it’s OK, Laura, honestly, because the moment Peter was born it just felt so glorious, and when they put him in my arms I truly don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy in all my life,’ said Belinda.

‘I’ll be happy just to get it all over,’ said Jeannie. ‘I feel so blooming uncomfortable now.’ She peered down the neck of her nightie at her stomach, grimacing. ‘It looks like I’m going to pop any minute. My back aches all the time. And I have to keep peeing. I actually wet my pants today because I didn’t run down that corridor fast enough!’

‘Oh, you sexy thing!’ said Belinda.

‘I don’t think I’m ever going to feel sexy again in my life,’ said Jeannie.

‘Funny. I can’t wait to have a cuddle with Rick,’ said Belinda.

‘What about you, Laura? Are you missing your Daniel?’ Jeannie asked.

I hated the way she said his name, as if it was in quotes.

‘Yes, I am,’ I said shortly.

I actually had a dream about him that night. Well, it was about a boy called Daniel, but he wasn’t the real one, and he wasn’t my imaginary version of him either. He was more like Nina at her worst. He was going out with some other girl, and he looked disgusted when he saw me. He called me horrible names and said he never wanted to see me again, and then both Dr Bertrams were there, and Nina herself and even Little Richard, but they were all sneering at me. Mum and Dad were there too and Mum wouldn’t come near me even though I had a terrible pain in my stomach and I was scared the baby was starting to come.

Then I woke up with a start and my tummy really was hurting and I started to panic. It was far too soon and the baby would die. I’d wanted to get rid of the baby only a few weeks before and yet now I clutched my stomach in terror, as if I was trying to keep it safe inside me. But there was a familiar feel to the sharp pains. I got out of bed and made my way down the corridor in the darkness.

Some of the girls were snoring in the cubicles, and someone was muttering – probably Sarah saying her prayers. I said a prayer too and then went weak with relief in the toilets to discover that I wasn’t having the baby at all, I simply had a bad stomach upset from eating such a large slice of fruit cake.