He’d heated Bolognese out of the freezer and was tipping spaghetti in pasta bowls as Georgia walked in.

‘Hitting the books, Cookie?’ John asked brightly.

‘History,’ Georgia answered.

Georgia’s mum had spent Thursday and Friday nights on the sofa. Georgia understood that she didn’t want to go back to her flat and be alone, but having her around didn’t make life easy. She was a natural-born moaner, from the couch jarring her back to the inferior taste of Lidl coffee.

‘Has anyone spoken to Zac today?’ Georgia asked as she twirled her Bolognese around a fork.

‘He’s working,’ John said, throwing down a dishcloth and settling at the table.

‘Already?’ Georgia said, surprised. ‘Doesn’t he get compassionate leave?’

John nodded. ‘They’re short-staffed, and Zac said he’d rather work than sit around brooding.’

After two days stuck at home, Georgia could understand.

‘Zac texted last night, saying his mum was trying to book a flight from Hong Kong,’ Georgia told her dad. ‘I hope she does, because you know … He’s alone in the flat where Sophie …’

Georgia didn’t finish because her mum had pushed her pasta bowl away, shaking her head.

‘How much salt did you put in this sauce?’

John sighed. ‘It’s from a jar, the same one we’ve always bought.’

‘Well, you added something.’

Georgia shovelled in another mouthful. Her dad’s defrosted Bolognese would never win culinary prizes, but it wasn’t offensive.

‘Rachel, if I’d known you were staying, I’d have added cyanide,’ John said, giving Georgia a cheeky eyebrow flick.

‘Mature …’ Rachel said.

‘Tastes fine to me and Georgia’s tucking it down,’ John noted.

‘Big surprise,’ Rachel said, holding her arms wide open. ‘Hold the front page. Daddy’s girl takes Daddy’s side.’

Georgia baulked.

‘What the …!’ Georgia gasped, so furious that a half-chewed piece of spaghetti flew out of her mouth. ‘Quietly eating dinner is taking sides now?’

‘Nothing I say is ever right,’ Rachel said, folding her arms.

Georgia had heard that line a thousand times and it made something snap.

‘Fine,’ Georgia growled, tilting her pasta bowl towards her mother. ‘Here’s a compromise. I’ve eaten half, you can scoop the other half in the bin and then I’ve made you both equally unhappy.’

Georgia sent her bowl spinning into the middle of the table. She couldn’t stand the thought of going back to her lonely room, or staying here listening to her parents fight over nothing. She grabbed a bomber jacket off the rack by the front door, patting to make sure her keys were in the pocket as she whipped it up her arms.

‘Georgia, where are you going?’ John asked anxiously as he rushed into the hall. ‘It’s getting dark.’

‘I can’t spend another second in this house,’ Georgia yelled, trembling with anger as her dad blocked the front door.