Izzy was small and curvy, and she had the loveliest face I’d ever seen. She was known to everyone but me as ‘quiet’ (and chewed bubblegum all the time because she thought it made her look hard, so people would leave her alone), but underneath it all she was funny and dark and biting, and I knew she was the best friend I could possibly have. She bleached her Afro white-blonde, which was contradictory for someone who hated attention, but I understood that she didn’t care whether people looked at her or not. She just wanted to feel like herself. They could stare at her, but she would decide whether or not she was going to talk to them.

‘Still,’ she said, ‘what was that? You were pretty much going at it, stabbing that book. Do you want to take some time out? I can call Sash.’

I shook my head. ‘I missed too much school when Mum was sick. It took me ages to catch up so I can’t miss any more now. I was just thinking about my dad. That’s all. I forgot I was at school for a minute. Fucker. It’s the fact that he thought he could take me away with him. It makes me feel guilty. Kind of complicit. I can’t shake it.’

I could, in fact, shake it because the fact that I’d stood my ground made me feel brave and amazing. But my head was full of people who could turn blue if I thought about it. Next time I’d try another colour. I wondered whether to tell Izzy. I opened my mouth to do it, but she started talking.

‘But you didn’t go,’ she said. ‘You stood up to him. You stayed here.’

There was no arguing with that. I smiled. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ I said. ‘First time ever.’

I was officially allowed to live at home with Sasha now. When the people from social services visited, they’d found us in the cleanest, most well-organized house in the world, with my homework out on the table and Sasha (who couldn’t cook) stirring a pot of vegetable soup that we’d decanted from a couple of cans, with some herbs thrown in to make it smell home-made.

It had been fine. They’d asked lots of questions and said I could stay.