‘Are you looking for somewhere to sit?’ It was Ivneet, sitting with Rangan and Ezra and a few ultra geeky boys from higher up the school. She patted the empty place beside her, her head on one side.

I sat down gratefully. I’d been clutching my tray so hard that my palms were damp. I wiped them quickly on my jeans and tried to compose myself. I was so hot. I could feel my fringe sticking to my forehead. I prayed I didn’t smell sweaty. I took a long drink of water, trying to think of something to say. Everyone was having a shouty conversation about some match. I couldn’t work out what they were on about.

They were a pretty weird bunch. Ivneet was OK, but I couldn’t stand Rangan and Ezra, who were both terrible show-offs, and the other boys looked even worse. It turned out they were all members of the Chess Club. Nothing is more boring than listening to people talking about a chess game when you don’t even know the moves.

Ivneet shook her head sympathetically at me. ‘Sorry. They do go on. Do you play chess?’

‘Nope. But you do, obviously.’

‘My father taught me when I was three,’ she said. ‘Please don’t wince! My parents are crazy. They’re determined I’m going to be an intellectual genius. It’s a wonder they didn’t try to teach me to read when I was still in the womb. Apparently they did play classical music to me when I was just a blob, can you imagine!’

I smiled at her. ‘Are you an only child?’

‘No, I’ve got an older brother, and they went through this whole rigmarole with him, but he’s never been as biddable as me,’ said Ivneet. ‘He’s clever, but he gets bored studying. He’s desperate to go to art school. He’s ultra cool and stylish, into fashion in a big way. My parents are very traditional, so you can imagine their despair. So now they’ve focused on me.’

‘You want to be a surgeon though, don’t you?’

‘Well, I want to do medicine. I’m not sure about being a surgeon though. Last night my mum cut her finger badly and I practically fainted at the sight of all the blood. I don’t think you can be a very competent surgeon if you’re squeamish. I fancy studying to be a psychiatrist. I’m interested in what makes people tick.’ Ivneet nudged her glasses down to the end of her nose and looked over them. ‘Lie down on my couch, Miss Bennet, and tell me what’s troubling you,’ she said in a mock-German accent.

‘No fear!’ I said. I did like Ivneet. She was fun to talk to, even though she was a bit weird. She didn’t just go on and on about hairstyles and make-up and clothes and boys. Today she was wearing her hair in its usual long fat plait, she hadn’t bothered with any make-up, and her plain green dress would have made Zara raise her eyebrows and exclaim, ‘Per-lease!’

I craned round, trying to see Sally. She seemed to be laughing her head off at something Gary Masters was saying. When I turned back to take another bite of pizza, Ivneet was looking at me curiously. Her dark eyes were slightly narrowed, as if she could really read my thoughts.

I put the slice of pizza back on my plate, feeling queasy.

‘Are you OK?’ Ivneet asked.

‘Course I am. It’s just a bit greasy, that’s all,’ I said.

‘Are you looking forward to the holidays?’

‘I suppose. I mean, yes, of course I am.’ I looked at the scribbled number on my wrist. Ivneet looked too, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s Josh Brown’s number. He wants me to go skating with him some time.’

‘And will you?’ Ivneet asked.

‘Probably not. I didn’t like to say no outright, not in front of all his mates. Was that silly?’

‘No, kind. But maybe he’s got the wrong end of the stick now,’ said Ivneet.

I sighed. ‘I wish life wasn’t so complicated.’

‘Tell me about it!’

It was just an expression – Ivneet didn’t really want me to tell her what was on my mind. And yet I wished I could blurt it all out.

‘Would you go out with Josh?’ I asked her.

‘Well, it would depend. As a friend, maybe. In a crowd. Not otherwise. I wouldn’t be allowed, anyway,’ said Ivneet. ‘My parents are very strict.’

‘Are they religious?’

‘Not particularly. They just want me to concentrate on my schoolwork.’ Ivneet nudged a little closer to me. ‘Though they’ve taken a shine to Rangan. We know his family, worst luck. Imagine, me and Rangan!’ She pulled a funny face.

‘You’d have the brainiest children ever,’ I said. ‘They’d be reading Shakespeare plays before their first birthdays and babbling about string theory, whatever that is. I bet you know.’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Ivneet cheerfully. ‘My parents want to enter me for that Child Genius programme. Have you ever seen it? Imagine how cringe making! I probably wouldn’t be able to answer a single question – I’d bring shame on the family. Or I’d gabble my way through the answers and get everything right, but everyone watching would hate me because I’m such a geek. I’d like to meet Richard Osman though – he’s so kind and funny. I absolutely love him. I watch Pointless with my granny every afternoon after school. She wrote off to him for his autograph, and he sent a signed photo with a lovely message on the back. Dear, lovely Richard!’

I wondered if Ivneet was teasing, but her eyes were shining and her voice went all soft when she said his name.

‘Oh, Ivneet!’ I said fondly.

‘I know I’m weird. I can’t help it,’ she said.

‘So what’s your story about, hmm? The one we’re doing for Mr White?’

‘Aha!’

‘How many pages have you done?’

‘About twenty.’

‘Really? You’re kidding me, aren’t you?’

‘No, I just got into it last night. I’m not even halfway through yet,’ said Ivneet.

‘It’s supposed to be a story, not a novel!’ I said.

‘I know. And it’s quality that counts, not quantity. Don’t worry, yours will be heaps better than mine.’

‘No it won’t!’

‘Come on! I remember that thing you wrote about the Second World War when we were in Year Seven – you had to read it out. It was absolutely incredible. It made you feel as if it was actually happening. That part about the children on the train – I was practically in tears.’

‘I went a bit over the top,’ I said, thrilled that she remembered it so vividly.

‘I’m sure you’ll be a writer when you grow up,’ said Ivneet.

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I’m not really serious about it.’

At home we sometimes fooled around about our futures. Zara wanted to be a YouTuber, I wanted to be a writer, and Rowena wanted to be an artist, so we’d decided I’d write a book, Rowena would illustrate it, and then Zara would promote it on her YouTube channel. It was just a game, but I couldn’t help hoping it would come true.

I went off into a little daydream, wondering if I would ever get to write a proper book – and then my eyes focused on Sally, walking towards the exit with Gary Masters. They weren’t on their own. Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett were with them, and a bunch of Year Twelve boys – but it was as if Sally and Gary Masters were lit up with neon. It was a wonder the whole canteen wasn’t staring at them, dazzled.

My stomach turned over. ‘Got to dash,’ I said urgently to Ivneet, and ran for the toilets.

I only just made it in time. I hadn’t eaten much pizza but I was still horribly sick. I couldn’t help making a noise, and I heard some girls commenting outside. I hated the flimsy cubicles. I waited, hoping they’d leave, but they started experimenting with hairstyles in front of the mirror, so at last I gave the toilet one last flush and crept out to wash my hands.

They all stared at me. They weren’t Year Nine girls, thank goodness, they were older, and some of them looked sympathetic.

‘Are you all right now?’ one asked. ‘It sounded like you were very sick.’

‘I was,’ I said, scooping up cold water in my hands and washing my mouth out. ‘But I’m OK now. It must have been the pizza.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘Are you sure you weren’t making yourself throw up?’

‘Of course I wasn’t! Why would I want to do that?’ I asked, leaning weakly against the washbasin.

‘To lose weight? You’re very thin,’ she said.

‘I’m naturally like a beanpole,’ I said truthfully.

‘You’re not bulimic, are you?’ said another girl. ‘That’s a truly crazy thing to do. You lose all the enamel on your teeth because of the stomach acid.’

‘Stop it!’ I said. ‘I’m not bulimic – I’ve just got a stomach upset, that’s all.’

As if I could ever explain to these girls why it was upset! I felt shivery, the way you do after being sick, so I just went into the cloakroom, huddling into Mum’s black fur coat. The carved bear ornament was in the pocket and I stroked his little wooden snout and ears and paws. I couldn’t wait to get home to see real Bear and enjoy his uncomplicated delight at the sight of me.

I wanted to run right out of school, but the teacher on playground duty was standing near the school gate. I stayed lurking by the toilets when the bell went, but she spotted me as she came in.

‘Hey – Francesca? Didn’t you hear the bell? Chop chop!’

So I trudged back to the classroom.

‘Cheer up! Only one more afternoon and then you’re on holiday!’ she called.

I gave her a weak smile. It was art all afternoon. I wasn’t much good at it. Rowena could already draw better than me, but it was usually fun working with Mr Robinson. He wasn’t really like a teacher. He chatted and joked and didn’t mind that we all called him Rob.

We’d been working on a still-life drawing, with an impossibly difficult bowl of fruit and a cup and saucer arranged on a little table with a checked cloth. We had to concentrate on shading and perspective. I tried, but my crockery looked as if it was sliding off the table, the checks wavered wildly this way and that, and you couldn’t distinguish my apples from my oranges. The still life remained set up at the front of the art room and we all sighed.

‘OK, it’s getting a bit boring, isn’t it? Let’s do some painting instead. Something Christmassy. You choose. Off you go then!’ Rob said cheerfully.

I’d gone right to the other side of the room from Sally, careful not to look in her direction, but when I went to collect some paints she came up and gave me a little poke with her pencil.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. Why didn’t you come and sit with us at lunch? I saved you a place.’

‘Yes, and Gary Masters sat in it,’ I muttered.

‘I only let him because I’d given up on you coming. I don’t even like him,’ said Sally. ‘He tries to act so super cool.’

‘For God’s sake, you were flirting like anything – I saw you.’

‘Yes, well, it’s fun, isn’t it, knowing how many pathetic girls fancy him.’

‘Yes, pathetic girls like my sister,’ I said angrily.

‘Whoops! Sorry. I didn’t know. Anyway, it wasn’t serious. He thinks I’m just a silly little kid,’ said Sally.

‘You are,’ I told her. ‘You just like playing games with people, don’t you?’

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Come on. We’re friends now, right?’

She gave me her little winning smile, her head on one side. My heart turned over – but I glared at her.

‘Wrong!’ I said, and stalked back to my desk.

I kept my head down, working on my painting, though the others were messing around, not really bothering, and Rob didn’t seem to mind. I didn’t paint a nativity scene or a Santa or a happy family in pyjamas opening Christmas presents. I daubed white paint on grey sugar paper, doing blobby polar-bear figures plodding through a dance. I gave them knitted bobble caps and stripy scarves just like the ones at Whitelands. Their legs were different lengths and some of them seemed as if they were floating upwards, which made them look unintentionally eerie.

There were no crowds watching. They were all alone apart from one small figure leaning over the balcony peering at them. She was wearing a black coat and her face was blank.

‘Interesting!’ said Rob, peering over my shoulder. ‘But a little bleak.’

‘That’s my life, Rob,’ I said, sighing. I wanted to sound cool and mysterious, but it just sounded ridiculous, and I had to duck my head to hide my blush.

‘Oh God, I remember being fourteen,’ said Rob. ‘Cheer up. It gets better, truly.’

I wasn’t fourteen quite yet, but I nodded.

‘It’s a good painting though. Technically all over the place, but very imaginative,’ Rob said, and moved on.

That was me in a nutshell. I wished I wasn’t so imaginative. I kept making Sally up in my head and turning her into the friend I’d always longed for – more than a friend – though I knew perfectly well that Zara was right and Sally was just playing around with me. She’d made my life a misery for weeks, taunting me about Mum and getting the other girls to gang up on me, and now she was amusing herself making me believe we were friends.

Of course we weren’t proper friends. Marnie was still her best friend. Sally had obviously given her that red friendship bracelet with the little heart so similar to the one she wore herself. Why did I wish so much that she’d given it to me? I didn’t even like those silly bracelets. And why did I want Sally for a friend anyway? I knew all too well that she wasn’t a kind and caring sort of girl. Sally was only kind when she wanted something, and she only cared about herself.

She wasn’t even that pretty, was she? She looked too knowing, too deliberately cute, her curls too wild. She had that irritating habit of tossing them back from her face. Why didn’t she simply have them cut? OK, she had a lovely slim figure, and her skin had that soft peachy quality, and her legs in her shiny black tights were slender yet shapely. I was slim too, but thin and angular, I was starting to get the odd spot, and my legs had a knobbly coltish quality that made me look awkward.

Why did I suddenly care so much about the way I looked? Until recently I’d barely bothered to look in a mirror. I’d never wasted time worrying about my hair or my face or my figure. I had fretted about clothes, but that was because I didn’t want to wear Zara’s girly stuff, especially as it smelled of her sickly perfume, no matter how many times it was washed.

I wanted to look like myself – yet I didn’t know who I really was any more. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands, trying not to feel so sad and self-pitying. I was being stupid and self-indulgent. I had to stop mooning after Sally and be the old Frankie. Of course Christmas wasn’t going to be bleak. Mum would do her best to make it fun for the three of us. We’d have a great time and we wouldn’t miss Dad for one minute. We’d have to see him and Helen at Granny’s for a few days, but they’d be over quickly. Then Sam and I would hang out together, taking Bear for long walks and chatting and laughing and mucking about the way we’d always done. We’d both forget all about that silly kiss.

I wouldn’t give Sally a single thought over the Christmas holiday. When I went back to school I’d take no notice of her. I wouldn’t even care whether she was friendly or not. I wouldn’t want to be her friend. I’d find myself another friend – someone kind and interesting like Ivneet.

This seemed such a good idea that I rushed after her the moment the bell rang, and caught up with her in the cloakroom.

‘Hey, Ivneet!’

She looked round, surprised. She was wearing a pale blue padded jacket and a red bobble hat with matching mittens – clothes that even I could see were hopelessly uncool, but they were warm and sensible. She smiled at me enquiringly.

I didn’t really know what to say.

‘Well, Happy Christmas,’ I blurted out. Then I thought. ‘Oh. Sorry. That was silly of me. You probably don’t celebrate Christmas.’

‘Oh yes we do!’ she said. ‘Any excuse to get together with family and friends and give presents and have a big feast! It goes on for days.’

‘And there’s me imagining you up in your bedroom swotting away and writing your story and colouring in all those muscles and veins and organs,’ I said.

‘Oh, I’ll be doing a lot of that too,’ said Ivneet, grinning. ‘Anyway, you have a happy Christmas too, Frankie. See you in the library first day of term next year!’

‘It’s a date,’ I said.

Ivneet waved and walked off while I was struggling with the hooks on Mum’s furry coat.

I felt a light thump on my shoulder.

‘There you are!’ said Sally breathlessly. She’d obviously been running.

I didn’t say anything.

‘Oh God, you’re not still feeling grumpy, are you?’ she said. ‘Hey, I’ve got you a Christmas present!’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Here!’ Sally fished a rectangular package out of her school bag. ‘Sorry it’s not wrapped. I only bought it this morning. Marnie and I did some early Christmas shopping at the station. Go on, open it now!’

‘But it’s not Christmas yet,’ I said.

‘Never mind. I want to see if you like it,’ said Sally. ‘Quick, before the others catch up. They’re just in the toilets.’

I opened the paper bag warily, thinking it might be a stupid joke. I pulled out a beautiful scarlet-leather manuscript book with creamy-white blank pages.

‘Do you like it? It’s for your stories. I’ve seen you scribbling away in that old notebook. I thought you might like this one,’ said Sally.

‘It’s … lovely.’ I’d always longed for this kind of notebook, but the real leather sort were so expensive. I’d always thought I’d be able to write much more stylishly, like a real author.

‘You do like it, don’t you?’ Sally’s eyes were shining.

‘How did you know I wanted one like this?’ I asked.

‘I just guessed,’ she said. ‘So we are friends again now?’

‘Yes. But I haven’t got you a Christmas present!’ I wished now that I hadn’t given Mr White the fudge.

‘Never mind,’ said Sally.

‘But I want to give you something special,’ I said, though I had no money left.

‘Well, listen, in the holidays—’ Sally began.

But just then Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett came barging into the cloakroom.

Sally looked at them. She looked at me. ‘See you then, Frankie,’ she said.

Was she simply saying goodbye? Or did she mean she’d actually see me during the holidays?

I suddenly felt around in the pocket of my coat and dropped something straight into Sally’s pocket.

‘It’s yours,’ I said, and then I ran out of the cloakroom.

I’d given her the little carved bear.

Mum and Rowena were waiting at the school gate. Zara was with them, fuming.

‘Did you see the way Sally Mac was behaving in the canteen at lunchtime? She was practically flinging herself at Gary. It was unbelievable. You can’t want to be friends with that little flirt, Frankie!’

‘Don’t talk about her like that, Zara. Even if she is,’ said Mum. She looked grey with tiredness, but she was determinedly smiling.

‘Oh shut up, Zara. You’re just jealous because you fancy Gary and he doesn’t even give you a second glance,’ I said spitefully.

‘You’re just defending Sally because you’ve got a stupid crush on her,’ said Zara. ‘You’re pathetic, Frankie.’

‘Why are Zara and Frankie quarrelling, Mum?’ Rowena asked.

‘Because they’re silly,’ said Mum. ‘Now pipe down, both of you. Let’s get into the Christmassy spirit, please. It’s officially holiday time, so let’s be jolly and festive.’

Mum played a Christmas song CD in the car going home, and commanded Zara and me to sing along with Rowena. We sat sulkily silent for a minute or two but then joined in the ridiculous oldies, rocking around a Christmas tree, wondering if people knew it was Christmas, wishing everybody Merry Christmas and giving our heart last Christmas.

When we got in we helped Mum decorate the tree, and then Rowena showed Mum all the drawings in her school book, Zara messaged friends she’d said goodbye to only an hour before, and I sat stroking the scarlet leather of my new notebook. I wanted to start writing in it straight away. I could make a start on my fairy tale, but the notebook seemed far too beautiful to waste on a story for school.

Maybe it was time to write my first serious novel. The apocalypse story seemed silly and overblown now. I wrote a practice paragraph or two at the back of my rough book, but I didn’t really feel like making up a story. I was too absorbed in real life. Perhaps I should keep a journal. It seemed a splendid idea. I selected my nicest pen and opened the notebook to the first creamy page. I knew exactly what I wanted to write. The words were in my head already.

I think I am in love with Sally.

But I didn’t dare. I’d die if Zara found the notebook and read it. And even if I managed to hide it from her, I wasn’t sure I was ready to commit it to paper. Then I’d have to admit it was true. I didn’t really want it to be. It was too scary. I still didn’t totally trust her. Sometimes I didn’t even like her. But I just felt helplessly drawn towards her. I didn’t just want her to be my friend. I wanted her to be my special girl, my one and only.

So what was I going to do? Keep it secret, even from Sally? If I told her, she might tell Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett. They’d mock and tease and make my life hell all over again. What if everyone knew? Josh Brown and all the boys? Miss Eliot! I’d die of embarrassment.

We’d had the inclusivity lessons, we had our celebrity icons, we all said it was totally cool to be gay – and yet I’d heard people being teased and called stupid names, especially the boys. I supposed it was admirable to dare to be different – but I mostly longed to be the same as everyone else.

What about my family? Zara would be appalled. Rowena would be baffled. Mum would be … What would she be? She’d tell me she understood and she loved me no matter what, and she’d maybe even say she was proud of me – but what would she really feel? Dad would be more straightforward. He’d insist I was simply going through a phase.

Could that be right? Or was I going to like girls for ever? Was that why it felt so weird when Sam kissed me?

I wanted to write it all down, try to find some answers, but the scarlet notebook was still blank when Mum called to say that supper was ready. It was a big veggie pasta tray-bake, golden cheese bubbling on top. It was one of my favourite suppers, but my stomach was churning and I just took a very small portion – but then it tasted so good I heaped my plate as usual and ate ravenously.

Zara and Rowena munched away too. Mum was the only one who toyed with her food, only eating an occasional mouthful. I watched her anxiously. She wasn’t joining in the conversation much. She seemed absorbed in her own thoughts.

I wondered if anything worrying had happened at her school. Then I remembered.

‘How did you get on with Mrs Seaton, Mum? Did you both have a good moan about Danny Diddums and his wretched mother?’

‘Oh, she was fine about it,’ Mum said, but her voice sounded strange. She put down her fork.

Zara and Rowena and I stared at her anxiously.

‘Mum?’ Zara said gently.

‘Mum!’ said Rowena, and she slid down from her chair and went to nestle up to her.

Mum pulled her onto her lap and held her close.

‘Sorry, girls. Everything is fine school-wise. Mrs Seaton agrees that Danny and his mum are royal pains. Danny declared war on the whole class and shot them all with his water pistol. He soaked several kids to the skin before I managed to confiscate it.’ Mum acted it out, trying to make it funny, but we knew her too well.

‘You said everything was fine, school-wise. So what isn’t fine?’ I asked.

‘Please, Frankie. Just leave it, OK?’ said Mum. ‘I want us to have a lovely Christmas holiday. Now, who wants some pudding? Clementines or grapes?’

I couldn’t bear it though. I had to ask. ‘Mum, have you had another one of your turns?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Stop it!’ she mouthed over Rowena’s head. ‘Not now!’ but Rowena looked up and saw.

‘I’m part of the family too, Mum,’ she said. ‘Tell!’

‘There’s nothing much to tell. It was just a little slipup, but it was unlucky it happened in Mrs Seaton’s study.’

‘Oh, Mum, did you fall over again?’ said Zara.

‘No. Worse. I dropped a cup of tea,’ she told us.

‘Well, that could happen to anybody,’ I said. ‘Heavens, I’m always dropping cups and mugs and all sorts, you know I am.’

‘Yes, I know, darling, but that’s because you’re always in a bit of a rush and not looking properly. I was sitting in an armchair in Mrs Seaton’s study holding one of her best china cups, and then my fingers lost their grip and it just fell, and tea splashed everywhere – my skirt, the armchair, her carpet. And I just sat there like a lemon, staring at my hand, and then – oh God, this is so embarrassing – I started crying like a baby,’ said Mum, her voice wobbling as if she might start crying all over again.

We all three hugged her tight.

‘Was Mrs Seaton cross with you?’ Rowena asked.

‘No, she was incredibly kind. She helped mop me up, and then she cancelled her next appointment and we sat and had a heart-to-heart. She guessed about the MS. It’s just so depressing. This hand thing is something new. My hands have been feeling a bit odd and tingly for a while – I hoped it wasn’t going to lead to anything. But now it seems to be affecting my grip. It’s a new symptom. I so hoped I’d be one of the lucky ones and go into remission for a couple of years or more – but this seems like another relapse,’ said Mum.

‘How did Mrs Seaton know though, just from you spilling your tea?’ I asked.

‘Apparently her brother-in-law has MS. He’s had it for quite a while now. He’s more poorly than me, and needs a lot of day-to-day support, but he started off with similar symptoms. And she’s noticed how tired I’ve been looking too – although all the staff are pretty exhausted by the end of term.’

‘Is she going to let you stay working, Mum?’ I asked. ‘Because if you can’t, you mustn’t worry too much. Zara and I have looked it up on the internet and you should get proper sickness benefit, and if you can’t we’ll make Dad pay more money for us, and as soon as we’re able we’ll get Saturday jobs and we’ll manage OK.’

‘Oh, Frankie. Bless you, darling. But I’m OK for the moment,’ said Mum. ‘Mrs Seaton has been incredibly understanding. She’s going to try to juggle the timetable so I don’t have to take PE and she’ll let me off playground duty so I can have a proper rest at lunchtime. She’s going to do her best to keep me on for as long as possible. She’s being so kind.’

‘Well, you’re obviously the best teacher in the whole school, so of course she wants to keep you,’ I said.

‘Will you need this day-to-day support, Mum?’ Rowena asked.

Zara and I held our breath. Mum rubbed her cheek on the top of Rowena’s head.

‘Not yet, darling. Hopefully not for ages and ages – probably not till you’re grown up. Maybe never.’

‘It’s so scary though,’ whispered Rowena.

‘I know. I find it scary too,’ said Mum. ‘Actually, Mrs Seaton said I should get in touch with my doctor again, as I’ve had another relapse. I’ll wait until after Christmas and then phone for an appointment.’

‘Phone tomorrow!’ I insisted. ‘Maybe he can give you some different pills or something.’

‘He’s probably off on his holidays already. Still, I’ll phone, I promise – though he doesn’t seem to think there’s much more they can do at the moment, and it just makes me feel depressed,’ said Mum. ‘Now, let’s forget about my boring old illness and have some fruit. Or maybe ice cream!’

Mum made a big effort all evening. There was nothing much on television so we watched an old DVD, all of us snuggled up on the sofa, Bear at our feet like a big rug. Zara and I knew most of Frozen by heart because we’d watched it so many times when we were little. Parts made us groan now, but Rowena still loved it, and all four of us sang along to every single song.

Mum let us stay up, as we could all have a lie-in the following morning. But at last I got to go to bed, though I didn’t get any peace there. First Zara and I whispered about Mum.

‘I wish Dad was here,’ she said. ‘It’s awful being the eldest. I feel I should be looking after Mum now and yet I don’t know how.’

‘We’ll both look after Mum. Dad was pretty useless anyway. He just kept telling her she’d get better, which is rubbish, because she’s actually getting worse,’ I said.

‘What are we going to do if she gets much, much worse though?’ Zara whispered. ‘I mean, will we be able to leave home when we’re old enough?’

‘Don’t be so selfish!’ I hissed.

‘You’re the selfish one, making Mum so worried when you went to the fair with your precious Sally,’ said Zara. ‘Only she’s not yours, she flings herself at everybody.’

I wanted to show Zara my wonderful scarlet notebook to prove that Sally thought I was special – but I wanted to keep it hidden away too. I wanted to tell Zara all the sweet things Sally had said to me over the past few days – but I wanted them to stay secret more. I simply put my pillow over my head and kept it there, blotting out Zara’s voice until it faded away altogether, and I knew she was asleep.

Then I went to sleep too, and dreamed about Sally.