Forget Me Never

was on the memory stick. Reece arched his eyebrows and I realized how wishy-washy it all sounded. It probably looked like I was making a lame excuse to see him again.
    ‘I see,’ Reece said. ‘In that case, you’d better come back to mine, hadn’t you?’
    Reece’s road was, by anyone’s standards, a lovely place to live, with big, detached and very expensive new-build houses, just a short walk from Berkeley. I was sure that Reece’s mum Effie, arch-snob, had chosen it for that reason. She sang the school’s praises so regularly that I was surprised they hadn’t asked her to write their prospectus.
    Reece unlocked the door. The hallway smelt of air freshener and there was a wooden rack for those entering to place their shoes. The walls were lined with precisely arranged photographs in identical frames. At the end was a big picture of Colin, Reece’s dad. I’d always liked that one because, unlike the others, mostly school photos of Reece, it looked natural, with Colin glancing over his shoulder, half amused, half surprised. He had been a nice guy, Colin.
    ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ Reece announced, dumping his sports kit at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Get yourself a drink and then we’ll check out the memory stick.’
    ‘Reece?’ It was Effie. It sounded as if her voice was coming from the sitting room. ‘Who are you talking to?’
    ‘Mum? Weren’t you supposed to be out?’
    ‘I was waiting for you. Meg says she’s not well and can’t take Neve, so I was hoping you’d stay in with her, else I’ll have to miss my class. Did you leave your phone at home again?’ Effie bustled into the hallway. Her face froze when she saw me and I gave a nervous laugh.
    ‘Sophie,’ Effie said, her expression fixing into a polite smile. ‘What a surprise. Haven’t seen you for a while.’
    ‘Be back down in ten,’ Reece said, and headed up the stairs. Oh, great – cheers, Reece, I thought murderously.
    ‘Put those sweaty cricket clothes in the linen basket this time, not on the floor!’ Effie turned to me. I had to give it to her – Effie was looking good. She’d had a rich auburn colour put on her hair, and while the T-shirt and denim skirt she wore were casual, they were well cut and obviously expensive. I suppose if I had money to splash about like she did, I might give myself a makeover too.
    ‘Would you like a drink?’ Effie asked, heading to the kitchen. ‘We have juice or lemonade, or I’m sure Reece wouldn’t mind you having one of his disgusting energy drinks.’
    ‘Lemonade’s fine.’ I followed her through. A small girl was sitting at the breakfast bar, busily scribbling away on coloured sugar paper. She looked up when I entered.
    ‘Neve, do you remember Sophie?’ Effie said, going to the cupboard and taking out a glass. ‘Reece’s friend.’
    Neve gave me a sly look and put the end of a crayon in her mouth. ‘Secret,’ she said.
    ‘What are you talking about?’ Effie asked, but Neve said she wasn’t telling. I slid on to one of the seats. Neve must have had her third birthday by now – I remembered when she was a tiny ugly-looking thing with squinty eyes, that just cried a lot. She looked quite a lot like Reece now, I thought.
    ‘Where did you go?’ Neve asked as I accepted the drink Effie poured for me.
    ‘Nowhere special. Just getting on with things.’ I hoped Reece wasn’t going to take a long shower.
    ‘What things?’
    ‘Things things,’ I said.
    ‘Things things things!’ Neve laughed. ‘I’m going to draw you!’
    She got out a fresh piece of paper and grabbed the purple crayon, even though I wasn’t wearing anything that colour. Glad that Neve wasn’t going to press the issue of where exactly I’d been, I looked at Effie. She was watching me, lips pursed.
    ‘So, er, how are you?’ I asked. I had to say something – the heavy silence was making my skin prickle.
    ‘Very well, thank you for asking,’ Effie said rather primly. ‘And how are you?’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Are you enjoying life with your new family?’
    She made it sound as though I’d purchased Julie in a shop.
    ‘They’re not exactly new,’ I said. ‘I’ve been there a year and a half now. But yeah, it’s fine.’
    ‘How do foster-homes work exactly? Do they have you until you turn eighteen and then they leave you to get on with things?’
    What a way with words she had. I avoided the temptation to answer sarcastically and explained about my Pathway Plan, though I didn’t