‘OK.’ She leads me in and guides me to Mum’s bed. ‘I’m going to slide the curtains shut, give you some privacy, but I’ll be on the other side if you need me. All right?’

‘Thank you,’ I mumble.

Amanda looks at me for a moment, before shutting the curtains behind her.

It takes me a full minute to look up at Mum once we’re alone.

Slowly I move my eyes up from the base of her bed, across the thin sheets that cover her legs, all the way up to her hands and the tubes attached to the back of them, and finally to her face.

The first thing I think is how great she looks. It sounds odd, but she does. Her skin is almost glowing. Right now, there aren’t any dark circles to show the hours of staying up late working at her computer, no frown lines to shape her concentration, and her mouth isn’t downturned in disappointment, the way it often is when we speak.

I’m sorry I was so horrible, I think, but I can’t say it aloud.

Every time Mum and I argue about one thing, three or four previous arguments get dragged into it. We’ve now battled out each of our issues so many times that they no longer make sense. We’ve never managed to resolve anything either, so our problems just grow and grow, like a monster that feeds off our frustration with one another.

It wasn’t like this before secondary school. Saturdays used to be fun. We would play and laugh, and Mum liked me for me. But then it changed, and now it’s like I can’t do anything right.

Our last argument felt like it grew so big that the monster had taken over Mum’s flat entirely, suffocating us both.

Mum looks relaxed now, almost like she’s smiling. Like she has a secret.

Her long, brown hair is fanned out across the pillow, her curls perfectly placed. She looks like Sleeping Beauty, hands clasped over her chest, waiting for the kiss of life.

Without thinking, I stand up, lean over her, and stroke strands of hair away from her face. The smell of her musky perfume has somehow managed to linger on her skin, even after everything that’s happened. It makes my chest tighten.

Mum’s had the same perfume since I can remember. It’s surrounded every hug she’s given me. But we don’t hug much any more and I’d forgotten how much I missed it.

I kiss her on her forehead and my tears sink into her skin.

I sit back and wait for the magic to happen.

But this isn’t a fairy tale, and princesses don’t wake up after kisses.

Chapter 4

‘Wake up,’ something whispers into the darkness. ‘Safiya, wake up.’