I took another deep breath. ‘I will never speak to you again,’ I repeated. ‘As soon as possible, I will leave home and you’ll never see me. I will not communicate with you. Ever. If I have a child of my own, you will not see your grandson or granddaughter. You will not know he or she exists. I will not come to your funeral. You will not come to mine because you will not know that I’ve died. This I swear.’

Mum did look in my eyes then and I think she saw something to frighten her. I hoped so, because I’d meant every word.

‘Okay,’ said Mum finally. ‘It’s not a good idea, Ashleigh, and it will only make you upset, but you can have one visit to say goodbye.’

‘I’ll tell you when that will happen,’ I said. ‘Now, open the door. I want to go to my room and I don’t want to see either of you again tonight.’

And she did. Dad was waiting outside the door and he tried to hug me but I brushed past him and went straight to my room. I wasn’t able to lock it; Mum had all the controls to house security, so I propped a chair up against the handle. Zorro wagged his tail as I lay down on the bed and I hugged him close.

Then I cried for the rest of the night. But I didn’t make a sound. I wasn’t going to give my parents the satisfaction.

14

14

Dad knocked on my door early in the morning.

‘Ash?’ I didn’t say anything. ‘Ash? Are you okay?’ I thought this was possibly the dumbest question anyone could ask under the circumstances, but I couldn’t be bothered to point it out. I was tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. It was in my bones. ‘Ash, I’ll have to break the door down if you don’t say anything. You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?’

‘Go away,’ I said.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No. Go away.’

There was a long pause.

‘You can’t stay in there forever, Ashleigh. I’ve got breakfast here for you. And a drink. You must be thirsty. Please come out.’

I thought about it. He was right. I couldn’t stay in here forever, mainly because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to see Aiden.

‘I’ve made you chips.’

That would’ve broken my heart, if it wasn’t already in pieces. He’d made me chips for breakfast. Well, let’s all carry on as if nothing has happened, shall we? Because there’s no tragedy big enough that some fried potatoes can’t make it all go away. Poor Dad. For a brief moment I felt sorry for him.

‘I’m opening the door,’ I said. ‘But just you, okay? Mum can’t come in.’