– he has enough on his mind. As for Mum, well, maybe she left before the boots were taken this morning, or perhaps she just didn’t notice at all.

Either way, it’s my fault – Mum told me to leave the boots inside the door, and I listened to Kazia and left them outside. Now they’re gone, and all because of me.

‘We won’t tell Dad, or Mama, OK?’ I tell Kazia. ‘Not yet. I’ll think of something, I promise!’

So Kazia pulls on her black canvas PE pumps, and I have to wear my fluffy slippers, at least until I get to school and drag the trainers out from my locker. Great. I have never been so ashamed in my whole, entire life.

I time it carefully, so that the bell is just ringing as we arrive at Kazia’s primary, but still, I get a whole bunch of smart comments on the way.

‘Oi, girl, yer feet’s all hairy!’

‘That the new fashion, or what?’

By the time I get to St Peter and Paul’s, I’m running late, and I’m so mortified I’d like to crawl under a stone and stay there for the rest of the day. I kick off the fluffy slippers at the door and stuff them into my satchel, then sign in late at the desk and head for my locker, padding in my stockinged feet along deserted corridors draped with drooping paper chains.

‘Forgotten something?’

Dan Carney is sitting on the bench outside Mr Fisher’s office, grinning. ‘Like your shoes, maybe? Or is it a tradition that Polish girls go barefoot on December the sixth, in thanks for the sweets St Nicholas left them the night before?’

‘No,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not a tradition.’

Dan tips his head to one side, baffled. ‘So…?’

I sink down on to the bench beside Dan. ‘We put our boots out last night, me and Kazia,’ I confess. ‘And I filled them with sweets and cake and fruit…’

‘Was Kazia pleased?’

I sigh. ‘Not exactly. Our boots are stolen. No shoes for me or Kazia today, and no sweets, for sure.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Dan asks, outraged. ‘Nicked? That’s low. That’s very low. And… you’ve got no other shoes for school? Seriously?’

I open my satchel just enough to show a fringe of pink fluff.

‘Ah,’ says Dan. ‘My favourites. Well, don’t let Fisher see them. He is not in a good mood. I was cheeky in class, plus I owe him three homeworks, so now I have to do my lessons here, so Fisher can supervise. This school gets more like a prison every day. I don’t know why I bother to stick around, half the time.’

‘You don’t,’ I say, with a sad smile. ‘Half the time.’

Dan just shrugs and grins. ‘Well, can you blame me? Seriously, Anya, what’ll you do about the boots? Will you be OK?’

I bite my lip and tilt my chin up, trying for a smile. I’d like to tell Dan about what’s happening with the business, ask him for a hug, but I remember that he doesn’t want a girlfriend, and if he did it wouldn’t be a girl with no boots, no future, a girl whose life is falling apart.

I am the last thing Dan needs. Maybe he’d be better off with Lily after all?

‘Stuff this,’ Dan growls, getting to his feet. ‘Life’s too short for biology notes and being polite to Fisher. I’m going to fix this, Anya.’

He pulls on a beanie, winds a stripy scarf round his neck, and throws me a big grin. ‘See you later, OK?’

‘Dan, you can’t just go –’

‘Watch me,’ he says.

He walks down the corridor, pushes through the double doors and breaks into a sprint just as the school secretaries run out, yelling, to try and stop him.

Mr Fisher’s door creaks open.

‘Was that Dan Carney?’ he barks at me. ‘Where is he? What’s going on? Did you see him?’

‘Sorry,’ I say, smiling sweetly. ‘I don’t understand…’

Frankie wants to know why I’m wearing white trainers with black tights. ‘It’s an unusual look,’ she says. ‘I’m all for unusual, Anya, but this is a little bit… weird.’

‘It’s a long story,’ I sigh.

We’re in art, making decorations for the school Christmas dance. Mr Finlay’s art room is a mess of tinsel, glitter and glue.

‘I want an ice palace theme,’ Mr Finlay announces. ‘Think icicles and snowflakes… and perhaps a giant papier-mâché snowman, filled with sweets and presents?’

You can tell that Mr Finlay once dreamt of a career in children’s TV, or designing sets and costumes for the theatre. Teaching art to sulky teenagers was