“Listen, it won’t happen again,” Tony said quickly, as if realizing his mistake. “Next time I’ll-”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” her mum had said quietly, taking Harriet’s arm in a viselike grip and turning them both towards the door. As they reached the building, Harriet looked round and saw her dad pulling away, and if he had tried to ring her since, her mum hadn’t told her.

Harriet hadn’t dared ask her mother what she’d meant, but the words had stayed with her over the past few days, disturbing her sleep and haunting her waking hours.

She shifted her backpack and frowned again, aware of a headache coming on. She hadn’t eaten her breakfast and her empty stomach was starting to cramp.

That was one of the worst things about her parents’ separation – now, with her dad gone, when her mother had to work night duty at the hospital, she left Harriet with old Mrs. Bletchley, who lived in one of the cottages across from the school. Mum said Mrs. B. was lonely and enjoyed having children stay with her, but the woman reminded Harriet of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, and her house smelled of cats. That morning she had given Harriet some sort of unspeakable hot cereal for breakfast, which Harriet had mushed around in the bowl and tipped in the bin when Mrs. B. wasn’t looking.

A shiny black Range Rover pulled up to the school gate and a boy climbed from the back, shrugging into his backpack with impossible-to-imitate eleven-year-old cool. Shawn Culver was a year ahead of Harriet, and the most popular boy in school.

“Hey, Harry,” he called out, seeing her watching. She nodded without smiling, determined not to appear impressed, but she didn’t protest his use of the hated nickname. She tugged her hair more tightly into its bunch, suddenly aware that she looked as if she hadn’t bothered to wash that morning – which she hadn’t. And if her hair weren’t bad enough at home, when she could smooth it down with some of her mum’s gel, on a Bletchley morning it was impossible.