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Norah wished Poppy was sitting next to her so they could laugh about this. But Poppy was late, and Norah felt weird trying to save her a seat. She hadn’t seen her much lately.

Last Sunday, their regular park time hadn’t happened because Luna was unwell. Then, this week, they couldn’t seem to coordinate the morning walk, just missing each other time and again. Norah had missed them both.

Mrs Lock bumbled through a few more prizes as Norah glanced back at Poppy again, and this time, they caught each other’s eyes. Poppy gave a waggle wave, and Norah waved back.

Mrs Lock’s voice droned on, ‘Next, we have an ice cream maker! The winning number is... 93!’

An elderly woman with a walking stick hobbled her way to the stage, receiving a polite round of applause. Norah stifled a yawn, wondering how much longer this would drag on.

‘Next, a session with a personal trainer... 21!’ A fuller-figured guy went up to collect. ‘I betyou’reexcited for this,’ Mrs Lock noted as she gave him the voucher.

‘Why’s that?’ he replied, irritated.

Mrs Lock froze. ‘Err... no reason.’

The man walked off, seething.

Mrs Lock shuffled her notes. ‘Our next prize is a hand-drawn portrait session with local artist Norah Cauldwell.’

Local artist? That was pushing it.

‘Four hundred and twenty-nine.’

A man in a baseball cap shuffled up and accepted the voucher Norah had printed off. He looked at it and mumbled something.

Mrs Lock looked at him. ‘What?’ she pushed the mic under his nose.

‘I don’t want this,’ his voice boomed out to the entire hall.

Norah wanted to die.

‘Oh!’ Mrs Lock said, slightly shocked. ‘Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You won, so...’

‘Can I swap it for something?’ he asked.

Norah didn’t just want to die now, she wanted to be chucked into a bath of lye and dissolved to the extent that her dental records wouldn’t have identified her. All that would be left was a puddle of humiliation.

‘No,’ Mrs Lock said, confused. ‘Sorry.’

‘What about store credit?’ he asked.

‘Sir, this is a school. What would you do with credit?’ Mrs Lock asked, looking tired.

‘I could get some money towards uniforms. They cost a bloody arm and a leg.’

Mrs Lock sighed, exhausted. ‘Look, that’s not how any of this works. Haven’t you been to a raffle before?’

In the man’s pause, Norah could feel the second-hand embarrassment of two hundred people for her as clear as day.

‘Hey, can I buy it?’ said a voice. Norah turned and wasn’t surprised to see Poppy pushing her way through. ‘I’ll give you fifty quid for it?’ she said to the man.

The man nodded happily. ‘Yeah, alright then.’

‘Great. Get off the stage,’ Mrs Lock said to the man.

He trotted off, and Norah watched as they went into the back. Poppy had saved her arse. It wasn’t completely un-embarrassing, but quite a bit of the poison of the moment had been sucked out. She didn’t know how she was going to pay Poppy back for this.

‘Now, onto the grand prize. Guitar lessons with a globally famous multi-platinum pop star.’