The doctors asked Dad and me if Mum had any symptoms in the weeks leading up to the stroke. The main symptom, they explained, was a headache about a week or two before.

My heart dropped when they said that, because Mum had complained about a headache during our argument. And then I’d . . .

I didn’t tell the doctors about it, though, because that would mean I would have to tell them about the argument, and I don’t know if I could bear to find out that it was all my fault.

‘She had an operation on the first night, so now all we can do is . . . wait,’ I finish lamely.

Waiting feels so . . . wrong. I want to do something, to help. But instead I just have to live life like normal.

Dad said it was important to maintain my routine, whatever that means, and carry on with school and friends. But why pretend everything’s fine when it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong?

Suddenly tears well up in my eyes.

‘D-does anyone want some sweets?’ I ask to avoid the embarrassment of crying. ‘Ms Belgrave gave them to me,’ I add, accidentally spilling the contents all over the table.

‘Oh, Saff !’ Elle says, grabbing my hand. Izzy goes to get a tissue, while Abir strokes my shoulder. ‘We’re here for you. Anything you need . . .’

I nod. ‘Thank you.’ I smile back at them, even though I want to keep crying.

I try to focus on doing something, instead of sitting here and moping. That’s when I get an idea.

‘Actually . . .’ I say. ‘There is something you could do for me . . .’

A little while later I leave school just before the bell rings for the end of lunch. I asked Elle and the others to let our form tutor know I’ve gone home.

Except that’s not really where I’m going.

With shaking hands I put the key in the lock and let myself inside. My first thought is that it’s really quiet. Usually the TV is on, or some music. I switch on the lights, take off my coat, and turn on the TV for background noise. My second thought is that it smells like her – Mum’s flat.

It’s a full minute, maybe more, before I can bear to step inside any further. It’s as if I’m glued to the door, paralysed, like a wizard has trapped me in a snare. My blood is pumping around my body too quickly and I feel my limbs tingling, too heavy to lift. I crouch down at the threshold for a moment until the feeling passes.