‘Hmm, I think we are a little like the Jedi. They serve the greater good of their people, sacrificing everything for duty.’

143 I wonder if she means that she had to sacrifice her happiness to have me, and that stings. But I’m pretty sure that when she says ‘we’, she doesn’t mean her and me, and I’m annoyed that she’s desecrating something as sacred as the Jedi order with her creepy-bug mentality.

‘I hope the Jedi Council doesn’t expect me to give up bread with my soup, cos that’s one sacrifice too far.’ I open the fridge.

‘The Jedi have a council?’

‘Of course, Mum,’ I say. ‘So they can make group decisions. So they’re fair.’

‘Ha,’ she snorts. ‘That’s their weakness, then. They’d be more powerful if they had just one master – someone to make all the rules and to protect at all costs.’

‘Like Emperor Palpatine?’ I peer around the fridge at her. ‘The evil Sith Lord? Yeah, that worked out well.’ Good to get more confirmation of what side she’s on.

‘Hurry up and close that, it’s freezing in here,’ she says.

I take the spread out and close the fridge. ‘Seriously, though, Mum, if you need more help around the house, you just have to say.’

144 ‘They’re more outside-of-the-house jobs,’ she says. ‘And you’ve done so much for me over the years, the most important thing you can do now is take care of yourself. Eat and rest.’

I try not to shudder as I butter the bread, nice and thick cos I like a high butter to anything ratio. ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘being out after curfew has made me a bit uneasy. Have you checked the house for any signs of the escaped test creature from the lab?’

‘I can assure you that the creature from the lab is not inside this house.’

I put the spread back in the fridge. I’m running out of time and ideas. ‘I know it’s pathetic,’ I say. ‘But would you mind checking again for me? It would help me to sleep better tonight.’

‘Sit down and eat your soup,’ she says. ‘And then we’ll check together so you can see for yourself that the only living things in this house are me and you.’

I put my plate of buttered bread down on the table and lower myself back into my chair. She watches as I pick up the spoon and sink it into the bowl.

‘I made it myself, you know,’ she says, and I try not to immediately chuck the bowl across the 145 kitchen in horror. The sweet smell of tomatoes wafts up my nose and I have to focus on not gagging. Mum just watches as I lift a spoonful up to my mouth and touch it to my lips.

‘Oh man,’ I say. ‘It’s gone cold. I’m just gonna warm it in the microwave.’