I’m in the middle of English homework when Mum puts her head round the door, sees that I’m working, and smiles. She’s dressed to go out. Little black dress, Jimmy Choos and freshly waved hair.

‘I’m off to a private view. Won’t be late. What is it tonight?’

‘The Great Gatsby.’

‘Going OK?’

I nod. Actually, Crow isn’t the only person who’s decided to turn over a new leaf. I’m fed up with dreading every result I get. When I’m not with my friends I’ve been secretly experimenting with putting in some real effort into my assignments and, so far, it’s working. My English teacher has stopped picking them up by her fingertips like she used to do – as if they were toxic. This time, I’m hoping for a B.

Mum comes over and kisses the top of my head. I smell the familiar mixture of Rive Gauche, Jo Malone shampoo and Elnett hairspray. She takes my face in her hands and smiles at me again.

‘You’re really trying this term, aren’t you, darling?’

There’s a happy gleam in her eyes and a new lustre to her hair. I’ve been noticing it a lot recently. Just like I’ve noticed the single white rose that gets delivered anonymously every Monday morning and is instantly put in a little crystal vase on the desk in her cubbyhole at the top of the house. And the way she leaps several centimetres whenever her BlackBerry goes off. And the secret glow on her face if it’s the message she was hoping for. Well, I know that feeling now. It’s the feeling I got when Liam texted me about the bike chain. It’s love, or something close to it. Extreme like, anyway.

It’s useful, because it’s put her in a permanent good mood and it means that when I asked her if I could possibly go and see Jenny perform in Chicago after half-term as part of my eighteenth birthday treat she said yes almost straight away. She’s trying to be nice to me and hasn’t mentioned flying pigs since the summer. She hasn’t really talked to me about it, but it’s totally obvious what’s happened. The white roses were the biggest giveaway.

Vicente.

They got the spark back when he visited in February. You could see it when they danced together. I guess it was always waiting to happen. I wish she’d just come out and tell me, but she won’t. She’s embarrassed. Maybe she realises it looks a bit bad for me – falling in love again with the man she was with before I came along and ruined it. And things haven’t really changed, because it’s thanks to me and my ‘important academic year’ that she can’t go off to Brazil and spend some proper time with him.

‘D’you think she would?’ Jenny asks. ‘Brazil? Really?’

I’m Skyping her about the trip to Chicago. But we’ve got distracted by men. As you do.

‘I don’t see why not,’ I say.

‘It’s such a fairytale,’ Jenny sighs.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Well, you know, pining for someone for so long, then finally getting it together with them. I mean – eighteen years. It’s a lifetime.’

I have a feeling that in her head she’s turning Mum’s life into a musical and she’s imagining the number where Mum falls into Vicente’s arms and he whisks her round the stage singing ‘Finally!’ Or words to that effect.

‘Anyway,’ I say, keen to change the subject, ‘how about you? You must be surrounded by gorgeous men.’

‘I am!’ she giggles. ‘Totally gorgeous and adorable. And so talented. But the ones I like are mostly dating each other, or girls from the chorus. I spend most of my time rehearsing with Gary Lee, who plays Prince Philip, and he’s hooked up with one of the ladies in waiting. You should see her do the splits. She’s amazing.’

‘What about you? Are you ready? You start previews in three weeks.’

‘I know! We’ve got our first full rehearsal with the orchestra soon. It’s going to be awesome. And the sets are so cool. The ballroom at Buckingham Palace. The Royal Yacht Britannia. A massive tent in Africa. Wait till you see them!’

I hope she’s not avoiding telling me something awful. Usually, at this point, she’s incredibly nervous about her performance.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but what about you? Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ she assures me. ‘Just tired from all the dance classes. I have to do extra ones because I’m so rubbish. It’s kind of weird having a starring role. I have to buy presents for everyone for opening night. I’ve got no idea what to get them.’

I’m about to offer some ideas, but she carries on without listening.

‘Luckily, Carmen’s going to take me shopping. It’ll be cool. Carmen keeps being stopped for autographs, but she says you get used to it. It’s bizarre but you just have to be really natural about it . . .’

She goes on for five minutes about the difficulties of being a STAR in a MUSICAL, and I realise that I even miss her babbling away about herself. She’s not always the easiest friend to have around. Her life is usually some sort of drama, but I’ve got used to that. Or I had. I suppose I’ll have to un-get used to it for a while, until the show is over. At least I can visit her. Although how I’m supposed to pack enough stuff for three days into one ‘standard checked-baggage size’ suitcase is a mystery to me.

Just before half-term, I’m busy trying to fit my underwear into one of the teeny-weeny pockets of my case, when Crow comes round with a package for me to take.

I look at her. We haven’t spoken much since the whole discussion about ‘people’ not taking school seriously enough. I look at the package. It is the size of a folded-up dress. A folded-up Jenny dress, with voluminous skirts and a nipped-in waist. The sort of thing Crow always does when Jenny has a big moment coming up.

‘Something for her to wear on her opening night?’ I ask.

Crow nods.

‘Something you just ran up between homework assignments?

Crow nods again, looking guilty.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve managed to . . .’

She shakes her head. She looks towards my suitcase. It is full. Totally full. I’ve only packed about three sweaters and some leggings. A girl needs a little variety to choose from. But it’s bursting at the seams. She looks more guilty. We both wonder where the package can go.

I sigh. ‘I’ll fit it in somehow.’

She gives me a grin. And I realise she’s right. It wouldn’t be the same if Jenny went to a big event without wearing something of Crow’s.

‘I promise I’ll look after it.’

She grins some more. So far she hasn’t said a word. Unlike me, she is seriously not a talker.

‘Got some stuff to do at home,’ she mutters, and leaves.

I look down at the parcel. It says all I need to know about how she feels about Jenny, and misses her, like me, and wants everything to go well for her. Then I set about unpacking my suitcase and working out how to squeeze it in.