Harry, for once, is home, sitting in the kitchen with a men’s magazine (the sort Liam wants to edit one day) and a Coke.

‘Are you OK, little sis?’ he asks when he sees me.

I explain about the bike chain hurting.

He smiles. ‘I was wondering where that had got to.’

I feel guilty. ‘I thought you weren’t using your bike any more.’

‘I’m not. I need to sell it. It’s taking up too much space, Mum says. She needs the place tidy. For . . .’

He doesn’t say it. For when people come round to look at the house, so they can buy it and Mum and I can go to our converted warehouse somewhere trendy. Yaaay.

‘How’s your flat-hunting coming on, by the way?’ I ask. I sort of don’t want to know the answer, but I sort of do.

He shrugs. ‘Isabelle’s in charge. I’ll just go where I’m told.’

I give him a sharp look. Harry is passionate about his surroundings. If I touch anything in his room – any tiny thing – I hear about it for weeks. Not in a good way. I’m surprised to hear him sounding so uninterested.

‘Don’t worry, sis!’ he says, catching my eye. ‘It’ll be fantastic. Isabelle’s dreamed about this for years. She wants to find the absolutely perfect place. And you’ll have to come and visit. Often. Promise?’

I promise. Something wasn’t quite right about that conversation and I’m not sure what, but Harry’s gone back to his magazine and it’s too late to find out. And I’m already picturing Liam writing an editorial piece about men’s fashion trends and working out which photos to use . . .

Harry’s bike is in the basement, in the corridor outside Crow’s workroom. I go downstairs to put the chain there, so Harry can re-attach it before he sells the bike. Afterwards, I stand in the workroom for ages. It’s so empty and dark without Crow.

She’ll probably be making school bags with Victoria at the moment. I bet that’s fun. Maybe it’s such fun she won’t even want to come home. When I first met Crow, I couldn’t understand how she could want to live in London when her family were in Uganda. I didn’t know how dangerous their life was back then. But it’s much safer for them now. The war that caused so much killing and kidnapping is mostly over. Her mum and dad have returned to their village. They have a great school (the one Edie helped raise the money to build). Soon Henry will be teaching there, along with Crow’s dad. I wouldn’t blame her for deciding to stay, if she wanted to.

Suddenly I feel lonely and frightened. I decide to go up the steps into the garden for some warmth and sunshine. It’s not good to stand here like this, shivering. I need some air.

Outside, Mum is talking to a man I don’t recognise about lawn sizes and property values in our street. She turns round, sees me and looks startled.

‘Oh. Darling. Hi.’ She doesn’t seem desperately thrilled to see me. ‘Er, this is Peter Anderson. From next door.’

The man steps forward and I realise I do recognise him. He looks like a thinner, taller version of Colin Firth. The last time I saw him properly, he was standing in the middle of our living room and swearing loudly about Harry’s music. He smiles at me and I smile back, although I don’t really feel like smiling right now.

‘Great house,’ he says. ‘I’ve always liked it.’

He looks almost proprietorial. Mum looks totally guilty. And I realise why. Mr Anderson must be a potential buyer for the house. Perhaps he’s going to knock the two together and make a mega-home. The people a few doors down did that and built a swimming pool under the lawn. ‘More money than sense,’ Mum muttered at the time, but it sounded pretty cool to me.

‘I’ve always liked it here too,’ I whisper. Mum gives me a half-smile, but doesn’t say anything. Things have been even more difficult since my exam results arrived last week. If anything, my school was over-optimistic. My chances of going to college are virtually nil. In fact, I’d be lucky to get a job in Starbucks at this rate. I head back indoors. Mum calls after me, but I don’t hear what she says. I don’t think I really want to know.