I nearly charged into his room to tell him, but in the end I didn’t bother… I began to empty my rucksack to assess the situation. I unearthed some pencil ends and a picture of an apple tree with big red apples lying all around its trunk: one of my friend Haisam the Honourable’s bizarre drawings. I hesitated, but then I stuck it to the wall. What had he been trying to tell me? As a general rule, I don’t understand either his drawings or anything he says, and if I ask him to explain it’s even worse. I also found my last paper for Year Eight – with a mark of 2 out of 10 and the comment “Some progress” – as well as a photo of a woman in a swimsuit, torn out of a magazine. The swimsuit was quite revealing, though there wasn’t all that much to reveal. I shook the rucksack to make sure it was completely empty: there’s something hopeful about making a fresh start.

Now it felt oddly light. Obviously, a rucksack with nothing in it seems a bit pointless, but I managed to make it heavier with a couple of blank exercise books that had been languishing at the bottom of a drawer since last year. So far, my school prospects weren’t looking all that much better, despite the resolutions I’d made about getting my things more organized.

I had to adjust the rucksack’s straps and let them out a bit, because they were cutting into my shoulders. It felt like I’d grown, so I went to check in the long mirror. It was true, I’d filled out quite a lot. I was pleased, because among other things, it’s important in life to have a good physique.

Before leaving, I called out a half-hearted “Bye!”. As I’d expected, there was no answer from Dad. It wasn’t his fault. He must have got back from Paris very late. As usual, he’d been really careful not to wake me, and now he needed to catch up on his sleep.

It wasn’t too cold, just a bit grey. Dad’s old car, a 1960s Panhard, was parked in the paved yard. Dad was obsessed with that car. He’d spent the whole of the previous day adjusting the rocker arms and he’d had terrible problems with the oil feed. I’d suggested refitting the oil feed pipe last, and it had done the trick. After I’d gone to bed, Dad had set off on his deliveries – the M10S engine thrumming beautifully as the car started. It was the perfect lullaby.