‘A little more.’

Wesley pushed harder and the engine roared, thundering in his ears, quaking through the car and into his bones. He felt as if he were bullying it, and feathered the accelerator so the engine seemed to pulse.

‘Yeah!’ shouted Dave.

When he let it go the power ebbed, but the sensation of it seemed to linger in his muscles, itch at his fingertips.

‘How about that?’ said Dave.

Wesley couldn’t keep himself from beaming in response.

‘I’ll give you some lessons some time. It’s not fair your brother got them and you didn’t.’

Wesley’s stomach clenched. ‘How do you know about that?’

Dave looked puzzled. ‘He turned up in his car last week and I wondered when he learned.’

Any power Wesley still felt evaporated instantly. ‘Jordan’s home?’

Dave winced. ‘I thought your mum’d told you. Me and my big mouth.’

It had been almost two years since any of them had heard from Jordan. After everything they had been through together since, Wesley couldn’t believe Mum wouldn’t tell him his brother was back. ‘What did he want?’

‘Maybe your mum should—’ His phone rang in his pocket and he couldn’t hide his relief at the interruption. ‘Speak of the devil. Hey, love,’ he said, answering the call.

Wesley wrung the steering wheel between his hands. Jordan being back had to be bad news, and if Wesley had known he’d have . . . what? He was powerless against his brother and always had been.

‘It’s no bother, I’ll send him home now,’ said Dave, and ended the call.

‘Let me guess,’ said Wesley, his voice tight. ‘Last-minute shift.’

He nodded. ‘Needs you to watch Evie.’

‘I’ve still got two hours here, not babysitting my little sister.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Dave produced a twenty-pound note and offered it. ‘You can make it up another time.’

It was more money than Wesley had had for a long time. Even if he gave half to Mum he could make the rest last a while. That didn’t stop him throwing open the door and leaving it behind, grabbing his stuff to head home without another word.

Kat woke again, convinced it was all fragments of a dream caught in her mind so that they leaked into the waking world. It wouldn’t have been the first time: once she’d stayed home from school after dreaming somebody died in the canteen (plausible given the food they served). A few months ago she thought she had dreamed the pass code to the staff toilets; Miss Jalloh caught her repeatedly entering ‘1337 80085’ into the keypad.

‘Okay, grow a pair,’ she told herself.

Grudgingly, she cracked open her eyes and looked at her hands.

The room was too dark to see for sure, so she fumbled to open the blinds. Thin LED street light cut through her fingers. That’s all it was! There was nothing wrong, just unnecessary panic and fantastical hypochondria!

A car outside passed behind her hand, and Kat saw it move through her skin, like the hull of a ship in murky water.

‘The best thing you can do is stay calm,’ she told herself.

She practically fell backwards off the bed, holding her hand aloft like a live grenade, losing her balance and catching herself against a Doctor Backwash poster on the wall. The logo showed through like a paling tattoo.

‘I’m a leaf on the wind,’ she whispered, urging herself to be calm.

Automatically she reached for her phone, and then pulled away as if it would scald her.

It hit her like a blow to the chest; the reason this had happened. For so long, Kat had only been her real self online – or as close to her real self as it seemed possible for her to get – where she could escape the indefinable stress of everyday life. Now those proxies into which she had poured herself were gone, and hardly anything of her was left behind. The posters on her walls, the figurines and the merch lining her shelves, were mere covers for her lack of substance.

It almost made her laugh. It was pathetic.

She grabbed her phone and opened the self-facing camera, averting her eyes as she snapped a selfie. There was no mirror in the room – looking at her face wasn’t Kat’s favourite pastime – but she had always taken a selfie once a week to post online. It felt like a way to keep in touch with herself, every photo throwing down the gauntlet to her continuing existence, fortifying her online life.

This selfie was different.