New Year, maybe sooner, and we’ll go right away. We can stay with them until we get back on our feet, find a flat of our own…’

‘No!’ Kazia argues. ‘We can’t! I want to go back to school. How will I see my friends, say goodbye to them?’

‘We’ll be gone before the term starts,’ Dad says. ‘It’s better this way.’

‘Do we have to go?’ I plead. ‘Kazia and I, we’re settled at school. We have friends. Our English gets better every day.’

‘I’m sorry, Anya,’ Dad says. ‘We have no choice.’

No choice. Kids have no choice, kids like me and Kazia, uprooted and brought halfway across Europe to start from scratch because Dad had a dream. And now that the dream has crashed, we will be uprooted again, torn away from our new friends and taken back to where we started from. Are we supposed to pick up our old life again, three months on, as though nothing has come in between?

If I’d listened to Dan… we could be running now, away from Liverpool, from peeling wallpaper and stolen boots and cheap white bread with no butter or jam. But I didn’t listen, and I should be glad, because Dan let me down, trampled all over my heart and walked away into the night.

Maybe it’s just as well I’m going back to Krakow?

I don’t believe that, though, not for a moment. Even with Dan out of the picture, Liverpool is where I want to be… it was my dream too, after all. I want to stay, work on my English, be with my friends, see whether the picture-postcard cottage with the roses around the door actually exists.

I want to stay.

‘I asked Santa!’ Kazia argues. ‘St Nicholas! He promised, and I have been good, very good, so definitely he will fix it! You’ll see!’

I can’t sleep. An hour ago, Kazia crawled into bed with me, her face wet with tears. Her arms twined around me and we stayed that way, me stroking her hair, until she drifted into sleep.

Three months ago, I was packing to come to Liverpool, full of hopes and dreams that fizzled and died in the relentless British drizzle. I hated Liverpool at first, but that was before I got to know it. Now I can see that it has a crumbling kind of beauty, a chaotic warmth, a crazy, quirky heart, and I will miss it. I’ll miss Frankie and Kurt too. I will even miss Dan.

My mind slips back to the dance, replaying those scenes, those words. Dan Carney… and Lily Caldwell. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like the worst ever betrayal, the sharpest cut. I got Dan so, so wrong, but still, I’ll miss him. I’ll miss him and I will never, ever forget him.

I wish I hadn’t told Dan that he was like his dad. I saw his face crumple with hurt, and for a split second I was glad. Now, though, I’m not so sure. Hurting someone who has hurt you doesn’t make you feel better. Sometimes, it makes you feel worse.

Kazia stirs and stretches, and I sigh, my heart dull and heavy in my chest, my eyes dry and aching with unshed tears. Somewhere around two o’clock, I think I hear a bicycle bell outside, and I run to the window.

There’s nobody there, of course.

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because when I wake it’s past nine. I hear Dad shout goodbye, that he’ll be back later, and the front door clicks. The day looks overcast and heavy, the way I feel.

I roll out from under the covers, taking refuge in the bathroom to shower and dress. Slowly, I wash away the sparkly make-up from last night, the glitter from my hair. I wish it was as easy to wash away the taste of disappointment.

The doorbell rings, and my heart leaps.

Maybe Dan woke feeling the same way I do? I’m not sure what kind of explanation could make me feel better now, but if he tried, that would be something. And at least we could say goodbye…

‘Anya!’ Mum is calling. ‘Are you up?’

I slick on some eyeliner and go through, but it’s not Dan, it’s his mum. Ben and Nate are squashed up on the sofa with Kazia, watching a cutesy Christmas film, and Karen Carney is sitting at the table in the little kitchenette, her eyes shadowed, scared.

‘Have you seen him?’ she asks, and my heart sinks down to my boots. ‘Have you seen Dan? We had a row yesterday, and he