His parents are zombies.

Dad pops a slice of bread in the toaster and opens the fridge.

‘Where’s the butter?’ He shuffles things around on each shelf.

‘On the top shelf where it always is. I used it earlier,’ Mum says.

‘I can’t—’

‘For God’s sake.’ Mum nudges him aside. ‘You men would lose your head if it wasn’t… Odd.’ She closes the fridge door. ‘Someone has been in the house,’ she says quietly.

‘And stolen the butter?’ Dad begins to laugh but then catches the concerned expression on her face.

‘Seriously, you must have put it somewhere else.’ He begins opening cupboards, the oven.

‘But we always keep it—’

‘Here it is!’ Dad lifts it out of the microwave.

‘But I didn’t…’ Mum looks lost.

‘It’s okay.’ Dad rubs her arm. ‘Stress makes us do weird things. No harm done.’

‘Dad, can I have some cash for lunch please?’

Dad pats his pockets. Pulls out his wallet and opens it. It’s empty. ‘Sorry, Connor. I’m out.’

‘I thought you went to the cashpoint yesterday?’ Mum says.

‘I didn’t have time. I’ll go today. I’m off now. Bye.’

‘See you, Dad.’ Connor bounds upstairs to fetch his rucksack.

His screen is still glowing from last night. His message to Hailey, of course, unread. He pops his heard around Kieron’s door. He’s still sleeping. Worry is an elastic band ball bouncing around Connor’s stomach. Mum is right. Kieron isn’t recovering from his bouts of jaundice and infections as quickly as he used to. He mouths a silent ‘Laters.’

Mum is in the lounge. The curtains are closed and the light is on as though it’s the middle of the night and not eight o’clock in the morning. Connor waits for the offer of a lift but it doesn’t come. Instead, she stands in front of the window she can’t see out of, laundry basket balanced on her hip, chewing her thumbnail.

Whatever.

Connor yanks open the front door. He’s angry with her still. Probably always will be but…

He turns. ‘You okay?’ Is she too preoccupied to keep a proper eye on Kieron.

‘There are twelve items of clothing and thirty-four pegs,’ she says.

Connor waits for her to explain – it sounds like one of those ridiculous maths questions they got at primary school. If Harry had thirty-two biscuits and gave thirty to Hannah and two to Sarah, what does that leave Harry?

Hungry.

‘Mum?’

‘Have a good day.’ She looks up and flashes a smile that is sadder than her saddest face.