‘O. M. F. G.,’ says Gabi with a dramatic handwave between each letter. She grips my armacross the table, nearly knocking my coffee over in the process.‘What?’‘Jamie. Elliot. Fox.’‘Can you speak in normal sentences?’‘He’s, like, famous, Mia.’‘He seems like a knob. What’s he famous for?’‘Er, for being rich and fit? You must have heard about him! God, it’s like you live under a bridge.’Within a second she’s whipped out her phone and is scrolling rapidly. She hands it to metriumphantly. ‘Ta da!’A few people who are quietly murmuring over their coffees look round at our table, which issomething that often happens when we’re out together. It’s like Gabi has a volume dial on her voicebox that is always turned a few 15 notches above everyone else’s.‘That was some quick stalking, even for you,’ I tell her.‘But you want to see him, don’t you?’‘No. Maybe. Okay, yes, I want to see him.’I’d like to be all unbothered and cool, but I’m a bit intrigued by him. Obviously he’s good-looking, with his stubble and dark eyes. And his muscly chest that I haven’t actually seen properly, but I imagine being muscly. Not that I’ve been imagining him walking round in justhis shorts, all wet from the swimming pool.But he blatantly knows he’s fit or he wouldn’t go around kissing people in windows. Or staring. Why would he stare at me? What does he think I’m going to do – run outside andsay, ‘Now you’ve glared at me through a window, I must have you’?Gabi sees I’ve gone into a daydream and so does her usual trick of digging her nail into myhand. ‘Oi! Okay, so his Facebook is, like, really private, but me and Han met him and hisfriends that night we went to York’s.’She says the night we went to York’s. She means the night we didn’t get into York’s and sostood freezing our arses off in a nearby bus shelter, passing round a Smirnoff Ice. It seemsthat these days it’s all about trying to get into clubs and places, when we always used to justgo to people’s houses when their parents were away. I miss getting all excited about house parties and making playlists for them and putting all our money together to give to whichever tall person was going to go and try to buy drinks at the supermarket. I have no chance of getting into any clubs – I’m only just over five foot, so bouncers spot me immediately. Gabihas the most enormous boobs ever to have grown on a person, though, so she just strolls in.Maybe if I get this job then I’ll be able to socialise in the 16 Radleigh Castle bar, like asophisticated . . . er, woman, and drink port with Jamie Elliot-Fox. And kiss Jamie Elliot-Foxagainst windows. But without getting sacked.While she’s talking about that night, I look at the first picture. There’s him in a suit, but withthe shirt collar open. He’s leaning back on a sofa, casually holding a glass of wine, while the people around him, including two girls practically on his lap, clutch vodka bottles andgenerally look totally wasted. He’s fixing the camera with that same critical, amused look hehad at the window.‘You buggered off with those goths,’ she continues. Gabi thinks that anyone who doesn’t like pop music is a goth. Actually Han’s sister and her friends had turned up and were on their way to see a band, so I went with them.‘They’re not—’ I try to interrupt.