It’s mid December, so you’d think it wouldn’t be so bad being sealed into a house with literally no air getting in or out, but Mum has always felt the 31cold more than normal people, so the central heating is blasting into every room. Apparently, even though she’s feeling much better in every single other way, the being freezing all the time thing still stands. My room is so hot it takes me back to summer in Crater Lake, when we were in as much danger of dying from heat and dehydration as we were from the alien invasion. It was the hottest week ever, and since the killer bugs liked everything toasty, they’d made sure the air con was switched off, and the heating was full on.

I stand at my window and peek out between the slats in the blind. The street outside is chillingly quiet – no distant hum of traffic or occasional song from a neighbour coming back from the pub. I’ve never heard this much quiet, or at least I’ve never noticed it before. I can’t even hear any birds. I watch for movement – a rustling hedge or shadow slinking behind a garden wall. But there’s nothing.

My phone pings suddenly, making me jump like an idiot.

It’s Chets. ‘Mum’s making us all sleep in the same bed together. My life is officially the worst.’

‘Oh, mate! No words.’ I reply.

32 ‘Pray for me. Talk tomorrow?’

‘Fo sho. Night. Enjoy your snuggle.’

‘Oh man! I hate my life!’

In spite of everything I laugh quietly while I set up my CPAP. My mum’s a stress-head, but she’s not as bad as Chets’ mum. I check everything on the CPAP is attached correctly. I’ve been using it for most of my life, so the routine is drilled into me. I don’t reckon I’m going to sleep much, but if there’s one thing Crater Lake taught me, it’s that you’ve got to get what you can, while you can, and that definitely includes sleep.