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seeing you? She didn’t see you, did she?”
    Honey shook her head. “She’s asleep. She won’t wake up”–Honey and her bike went wobbling slowly towards the hedge at the side of the road–“for ages. Hours, probably. Not till this evening.”
    I knew what that meant: Mrs de Vito had been at the bottle. That was why Honey had suddenly been sodesperate to get out. I’d been there when her mum had come round from one of her binges. Those were the times she was at her meanest, like she was almost blaming Honey for all that had gone wrong, like her husband leaving her for another woman. The awful thing was, Honey was also starting to blame herself. It was right that I’d got her out.
    I grabbed hold of her handlebars and yanked her back on to the road.
    â€œWatch it!” I tried not to sound too impatient, cos I knew she couldn’t help it. Her sense of balance just wasn’t very good. At school she’d been excused from doing gym because of all the times she’d gone and cut her head open or sprained her ankle or even, once, broken her wrist. There’s a word for people that aren’t well coordinated, only I can’t remember what it is.
    Yes, I can! It’s dyspraxic . I once told Darcy this was what Honey suffered from, dyspraxia, and she said, “She’s just an idiot.” It’s true that Darcy was never a very sympathetic kind of person, but we did have fun together.
    â€œJust keep your eyes on the road,” I said Honey. “I don’t want you falling off. We can’t run away if you’ve got a broken leg!”
    She immediately sat bolt upright, pedalling with grim determination, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
    â€œHave you got any money?” I said. I hoped she had! My pathetic littleamount wouldn’t take us very far. “Have you brought any?”
    â€œYes.” She nodded, vigorously. The bike went veering off again.
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œFifty pounds.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFifty pounds,” said Honey.
    I stared at her, unbelieving. “Where’d you get fifty pounds from?”
    â€œTook it out my mum’s purse.”
    I was, like, gobsmacked. Honey just didn’t do that sort of thing! She was far too timid. She’d even been scared when I’d tried giving her some of the stuff I’d nicked from Woolie’s, during my bad-girl period with Darcy. She’d been convinced the police were going to come and arrest her. Now here she was, calmly helping herself to the contents of her mum’s purse!
    â€œIt’s all right.” Honey wobbled again; in my direction, this time. “It’s not stealing!”
    How did she work that out???
    â€œIt’s only what Mum would have had to spend on me anyway. Like if I was still at home,” said Honey. “She’d have to get food for me, and clothes and stuff. So I’ve just saved her the trouble.”
    I was quite struck by this argument. It had never occurred to me to see it that way! Honey looked pleased.
    â€œI’d have taken more,” she said, “but it was all she had.”
    I said that it was probably just as well. “Anything over fifty and it starts getting a bit heavy.”
    She insisted again that it wasn’t stealing.
    â€œI wouldn’t steal. Not from my own mum. I wouldn’t steal from anybody! I just took whatever it would have cost if I’d still been there. That’s not the same as stealing. ”
    I said, “Of course it’s not,” and “Of course you wouldn’t,” and “That’s absolutely right,” but it didn’t stop her keeping on about it. She was still going on when we reached Market Norton.
    Honey could be maddening like that. She could be maddening in lots of ways, actually. Every now and again it used to get on my nerves and I’d snarl at her–and then immediately wish that I hadn’t. Everybody