I love surprises and most times, coming up to my birthday, I’d be so excited that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Lying in bed that night, though, I could only think about Aiden and what he was thinking and feeling a few doors down the corridor. He hadn’t come out of the guest bedroom since Dad wheeled him in and Mum said I couldn’t even go in to say goodnight. I tried some reading, but the words just floated off the page and didn’t touch me. When I finally fell asleep, a thunderstorm rumbling, I had muddied dreams that gave me no rest whatsoever.

When I got down for breakfast Mum had already left for work. She often has the car pick her up at five-thirty in the morning so she’s in the lab by six o’clock. She says she likes the quiet at that time of the morning and it gives her space to think without the distraction of colleagues, questions and meetings. She gets her best ideas then, she says. I wasn’t too bothered by that. I just wanted her to remember to bring our birthday present home, like she’d promised.

The weather had threatened a storm in the night, but it never arrived, just grumbled quietly way off in the distance. Now the sky was cloudless and even from inside the house I could tell it was going to be very hot. The kids at school wouldn’t be getting out into the playground today, sunblock and hats regardless.

I made myself two rounds of toast and watched Dad clean the solar sail through the dining room window. It’s meant to be self-cleaning, but Dad doesn’t trust it. I would’ve knocked on the window to say good morning, but he was operating the pressure cleaner drone so there was no point. I took my breakfast into the library.

Aiden was already in there, which was a surprise. He was sitting in his wheelchair, staring at the shelves. Not reading, just staring. It’s not often he seeks out time by himself. Normally he hangs around me whenever possible, only backing off when I tell him to give me some space. He didn’t even turn around when I said good morning.

‘How’re you feeling, Aiden?’ I asked.

He gripped the wheels of his chair and spun to face me. It was as if I’d surprised him, brought him back from somewhere far away in his head. He smiled.

‘Oh, you know, Ash. Like my skull’s on fire and someone’s constantly stabbing me in the neck with a red-hot knife.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘I feel loads better than yesterday.’

I sat in one of the library reading chairs in front of him, put one hand on his knee. He glanced down as if surprised to see it there.

‘Did they tell you what’s wrong with you?’ I asked. ‘Why do you have to wear that cage thing and when’s it coming off?’