‘If you don’t, I’ll think something has happened to you and I’ll call the police, OK?’

‘OK, Mama,’ I say, glad that I didn’t give in to Poppy and stay at the beach until midnight. My mother would have released the hounds.

‘And send me a picture.’

When she hangs up, I take a selfie with the passed out guy sitting next to me and send it to her.

She doesn’t respond.

I consider waking the drunk guy next to me as I’m getting off at my stop, but he wakes with such a jolt that I jump in my seat as he turns to me, his eyes red. ‘Where am I?’

‘Haybourne Road,’ I tell him, hoping he hasn’t missed his stop.

‘Next one.’ He nods then promptly passes out again.

It’s the last stop, so if the driver’s feeling generous, they’ll wake him up before the bus turns round and heads back to Portslade. I can’t help but smile as I’m heading down the stairs, picturing him going back and forth between Whitehawk and Portslade until he sleeps off whatever he’s drunk. At least he’ll get his money’s worth.

My phone rings as soon as I step off the bus and I don’t even need to check.

I don’t know how she does this.

She’s a witch.

‘I just got off the bus, Mama,’ I tell her when I answer.

‘Why didn’t you call me? I told you to call me, Ashana.’

‘Because you called me before I could.’

She exhales heavily. ‘Your father needs paracetamol for his headache.’

‘I’ll pop into the mini-mart. I’m almost there.’

I need chewing gum anyway. At least going to the mini-mart to get paracetamol for my father will account for the walk home from the bus stop taking two minutes longer than usual.

‘Come straight home, Ashana,’ she warns me.

‘Of course, Mama.’

‘Of course, Mama,’ she mocks, but I can tell she’s softening. ‘I’m very disappointed with you.’

‘I know,’ I concede with a sad smile.

‘I trusted you.’

‘I know.’

‘You could have just told me that you wanted to see . . .’ she stops to lower her voice, ‘. . . her tonight?’

Is that who Poppy is now?

Her?

‘I know.’

‘Stop saying I know,’ she snaps and she’s back. Still cross, but less likely to actually murder me.

‘I’m at the mini-mart,’ I tell her.

‘Just paracetamol then come straight home, OK?’

‘I love you, Mama,’ I say sweetly, because I’m evil and my mother has this thing where if you tell her that you love her, she has to say it back, no matter how mad at you she is.

‘I love you too, Ashana,’ she says with a huff, then hangs up.

I stride into the mini-mart to find Nish behind the counter, as always, watching something on his laptop.