I told myself I didn’t care. I gave myself orders to carry on with my life. I got up in the morning, showered, had breakfast. Went to school, sat in my lessons, did the work, came home. Watched TV, had a bath, did some homework. I wouldn’t let myself think. If you do – if you think about stuff – then it activates your emotions, and once they get going, you’re lost.

The next day was just the same. I wasn’t going to text Ritchie because I had my pride. I knew he wasn’t going to text me. I wasn’t going to go back to the room above the office to get the toys – the memories were too painful. They would stay there and I’d think about getting them another time. I wanted to get over Ritchie’s betrayal first. I did allow myself to think that he hadn’t betrayed me and maybe I’d betrayed myself by getting too involved with him. Either way, it was a mess.

I came back from school on Friday. I went upstairs, took off my school uniform and decided to have a shower. Mum was back at work part-time now and not doing too badly. I heard her come in just before I switched the shower on.

I shivered as the hot water made contact with my back and tensed myself as it cooled on contact with my body. I let the water run all over me, over all of my body, my hair, everywhere. Then I put some shower gel in my hands and rubbed it into a thick lather. It was one of Mum’s – lavender for rest and relaxation with tea-tree oil for healing. I rubbed it in as hard as I could, getting rid of every possible speck of dirt or sweat or dead skin – who knows what accumulates during the day? I balanced one leg on the side of the bath tub and washed it vigorously. I reached to wash in between my toes – you perspire there, and the bacteria can smell. But the problem is, you put your shoes back on, and the bacteria are there, in your shoes, waiting to reinfect your toes. Which is why it’s important to keep your feet clean. And there are other parts of you which keep producing sweat and stickiness.

I’d just finished rinsing my hair when I heard Mum shouting. I couldn’t hear what she was saying as I had water in my ears. I reached for the towel, swept my hair up in it to make a turban and stepped out of the bath. She was outside the bathroom door now.

“Your mobile’s ringing, Anna! I’ve got it here.”

“Thanks,” I said. I opened the bathroom door and extended a damp hand. She passed me the phone. It was still ringing madly. The display said it was Ritchie. I had to sit on the edge of the bathtub and take a deep breath before I picked up.

“Hi,” I said, dead cool.

He sounded normal, as if nothing had happened. He said we needed to meet up to discuss the dinner dance tomorrow, said he’d been thinking about it and he’d had some ideas. Could I meet him later on in town?

I hesitated. I didn’t know whether to tell him what I saw, but if I did, I would sound so pathetic, just like any normal girl. But we would have to talk. Maybe the best thing would be if we did meet, and then maybe, in a cool way, I could mention that I saw him with a girl. And then he would admit it, and I could see where I stood. If I wasn’t happy, I’d pull out of the golf-club scam. Because I wasn’t doing it without Ritchie.

So I said, yeah, all right, I’d meet him at nine in town. I took another towel and wrapped myself in it. When I came out of the bathroom, Mum was hanging about outside.

“Who’s Ritchie?” she asked, smiling.

“A boy,” I said, smiling too. I was feeling happier, see. I was going to meet him later.

“The same boy you told me about the other day?”

“Yeah, him. We’re going out tonight. Just me and him. Maybe to see a film – I don’t know yet.”

“Is Ritchie his real name?”

“No. It’s Craig.”

Then my mum started fussing – what was I going to wear, was I going to have my hair up or down? I played along with her a bit, and promised I’d let her know how the evening went. I could always make up a suitable story later. Inventing was easy.

This is how to tell if someone’s really got under your skin – that even if you’re planning to have an awkward conversation with them, you’re still looking forward to seeing them. All the way on the bus to town I could feel myself coming alive again. I even began to think about the golf-club dinner. Would there be a cloakroom attendant looking after the coats? Or security? I’d have to watch them, observe their movements, and calculate when the coast was clear. Even security guards are human – they pop outside for a fag, go to the gents. Maybe we ought to do some more play-acting. Ritchie could turn up in the role of my boyfriend, with a bunch of flowers, maybe, saying we’d had a tiff. Yeah. And I could seem upset, and all the while Tanner or someone could be going through the coats. Or perhaps he could pretend this Mr Singh had asked for his coat, and he could take it. Whatever. But it was hard to think of a role for the rest of the gang. They were better used getting rid of the loot afterwards. I didn’t know if I could trust them on the scene.

The bus reached the bus station and I walked to The Broadway, where we’d arranged to meet, outside W H Smith. There was a bench facing it. I could see Ritchie was already there, hunched over his phone, either playing a game or texting her. I felt sick again.

But when he saw me he looked OK, not as if he’d been cheating on me. In fact, he seemed in a really good mood. I wondered why. We said hello and he asked me if everything was still on for tomorrow. I nodded. He didn’t notice I was being quiet. He asked me if I could have a good look round the club premises where the dinner dance was being held, see what there was lying around, and who there was to tax. Tax. The use of that word tugged at me. It was our word. Then I realised I had a choice. I could sulk, act a bit off, until he asked me what was wrong, and then, bit by bit, giving him a mammoth guilt trip, I’d let him know. But that was game playing and not my style. I would take the other path.

“Ritchie. Who was that girl I saw you with outside Netto’s?”

He looked completely baffled.

“On Thursday,” I prompted him. “When you left us in Loz’s brother’s office.”

He seemed genuinely confused. But was he acting? Since both of us had made a career out of being totally untrustworthy, could we trust each other?

Ritchie thought for a bit, and his face cleared. He smiled to himself. “Girl?” he questioned. “Come on. She’s nearly forty.”

An older woman? It was my turn to look baffled.

“That was Wendy,” Ritchie explained.

“But,” I spluttered. “But she looked … from the back … Why didn’t you say you were meeting your mum?”

“What’s it to you?” Ritchie teased.

I shrugged. I tried to play it cool but I knew he’d caught me out. Still, what did I care? Ritchie wasn’t seeing another girl. Everything was back to the way it was before. I was drowning in a tidal wave of happiness. And there was even better to come.

“Wendy’s been asking about you,” Ritch said, matterof-factly.

“Oh, has she?”

“Yeah. You can come to our place and meet her if you like. But you don’t have to.”

“No, I’d like to. I’d like to meet your mum.”

“She can be a bit weird.”

“All mums are weird,” I half joked, thinking of mine.

“Anyway, I’ve got a surprise,” he said. He grinned at me. Ritchie got up then and grabbed my hand. He dragged me off, and he was going so fast I had to run a bit to keep up with him. We came out of the other side of the precinct, emerging into some back streets. We catapulted round the corner and came to a stop in front of an old Nissan Micra.

“Fancy a drive?” he said.

I couldn’t think what to say.

“Tanner’s Dad let us have it. It’s mine tonight. It’s all right. The cops won’t pick us up if I take it easy.”

“Where did you learn to drive?”

“Around,” he said. He took a key from his pocket and opened the passenger door. I slid in, feeling the springs give way. The seat needed fixing. The upholstery smelt a bit musty, a bit foul. I shuddered. But it was cool to have our own car and I could always have a good wash when I got home. Ritchie revved up, gunning the engine. I put on my seat belt, feeling good. This was what I liked best, taking a gamble, playing with fire.

Ritchie accelerated quickly and I felt myself pushed back against the seat. His driving was jerky but passable. I noticed he kept to thirty as we left the town centre, and stopped in time at all the lights. But once we were on the A road that led out of town, he picked up speed. I was a little frightened but I didn’t say anything. There was a clunking noise from the back. He picked up a cassette tape then, and shoved it in the car’s music system. Some garage blasted out. I didn’t recognise it, but it was good. It kind of got into my bloodstream.

We didn’t talk. Ritchie drove with fierce concentration. I didn’t want to distract him, so I didn’t ask where we were heading. After a while I recognised the outskirts of Fairfield. Ritchie slowed again, and I saw the community centre and the block of flats where I’d first met the other lads. Ritchie swung into an asphalt area at the foot of another, taller block of flats. He parked in front of a garage with no door, its interior full of junk.

We got out, and Ritchie locked up. Again he took me by the hand and led me to a lift. It was already at ground-floor level so in a moment we were lurched upwards. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. We got out at the floor below the top one. Within a moment or two Ritchie was unlocking one of the front doors along a narrow corridor that extended along the block. We entered.

It was pretty bare, except for the boxes lining the hall. It looked as if Ritchie and his mum hadn’t done much unpacking, even though they’d been living in the flat for a few months. I noticed several doors leading off the corridor; Ritchie took me to the furthest one. He unlocked the door, and I followed him inside.