I’ve worked it out. You and I don’t need to have any more contact. I’m disappointed in your life choices. You told me to my face that you wished I was dead. I’m not going to stick around in your life any more to be spoken to like that. Enough is enough, Sasha, and I’ve had enough of your bullying. Ariel doesn’t see it, but I do, and that’s why I need to get her away from you.

Stay in this house. The mortgage is paid off. I’ll transfer some money each month for bills. I have no faith in you to look after yourself, let alone another human, and despite what you think of me no grandson of mine is going to live in poverty. That will be the extent of my involvement. Ariel and I will be starting afresh with no contact. This is best.

‘It’s like a divorce,’ Sasha said, putting a peppermint tea bag in a mug. ‘I literally feel like my dad is divorcing me. Paying me enough child support to keep me quiet.’ She looked up and forced a smile. ‘That makes you the record collection or whatever. He wanted to take you, but he couldn’t get you in the car, so he had to leave you behind. He’s right about one thing, though: I did tell him I wished he’d been the one to die. I knew he’d never forgive me, even while I was saying it, but I don’t care. I meant it. I’d love it if he was dead and Mum was still here. So would you.’

I couldn’t quite be as harsh as that, and I certainly didn’t feel strong enough to talk about Mum right now, so I just said, ‘Sure you don’t want a coffee?’

‘No.’ She patted her stomach. ‘No coffee until July. I’ll have a herbal tea and a piece of toast. You have coffee.’

‘I will.’

We were silent while I made the drinks and Sasha put as much bread into the toaster as it would take.

‘You’re not the bully,’ I said because I knew she’d be thinking about that part of Dad’s note. ‘He is. He’s only saying it to make himself feel better.’

‘I know. Hey, Ariel? We can do this. Seriously. I’m not sure we even need to tell anyone that Dad’s gone. Do we?’

We looked at each other. Sasha and I were still feeling our way. Our relationship had changed so much lately, and now it was shifting again.

‘If they found out,’ I said, with only a vague idea of who I meant by they, ‘would they make me go into foster care like Dad said? Or a children’s home? Like Tracy Beaker?’