Coco handed me a Bourbon biscuit with sticky fingers, and I ate it all, the top layer first and then the edges of the bottom layer, and then the creamy middle. I drank the tea that Abby gave me and found that people don’t tend to tell you about their lost brother-in-law the first time they meet you, in front of their small children.

I left at six. Gus wasn’t back, but I was definitely going to meet him tomorrow.

20

I wake up, knowing everything. I write it down and make a plan.

Action.

‘I feel sick!’ I run past Dad, into the bathroom, and lock the door. I push my fingers down my throat to make myself vomit, but it doesn’t work. How do people do that? It makes me shudder. I push my fingers as far back as I possibly can, but I don’t seem to have a gag reflex. There’s just nothing.

I fill the jug that lives on the side of the bath (a hangover, I think, from when Mum used it for some complicated bath-hair manoeuvre) and tip it into the loo. It sounds close enough, and I yell, ‘Oh yuck!’ loudly, just to make sure. Then I start brushing my teeth and open the bathroom door with the toothbrush in my hand and a foamy mouth.

Dad looks so worried. He’s been totally taken in.

‘Joe!’ he says. ‘Oh, you poor boy. Were you ill in the night?’

I open my mouth to say no, but change my mind at the last second.

‘Yeah.’ I give a brave nod. ‘I tried to keep it quiet. I didn’t want to wake anyone.’

‘Bullshit.’ That’s Gus.

‘Language!’ says Dad.

‘Sorry,’ says Gus. ‘I mean: bums to all that. You love waking people. I bet you tried really hard to get us up so we could all fuss over you. Precious little Jojo not feeling very well.’

I shrug. I can see that Gus knows I’m faking, but I also know he won’t come out and say it. Dad makes me go back to bed, and puts a hand on my forehead, and fetches a glass of water, which I sip bravely.

‘I’ll call school. You stay here.’ He slaps his forehead like Homer Simpson. ‘D’oh! The French exchange. You can’t go with a vomiting bug. Enzo can come here when it’s his turn. I’ll sort it out. You just rest. Leave it to your old dad. I’ll give Mrs Dupont a call.’

‘I bet you will,’ says Gus from the doorway. I snigger, although I hate the idea of Dad fancying Mrs Dupont. It’s all wrong. I wonder, sometimes, whether Mum has a boyfriend in India. The idea makes me feel sick, so I guess my faking gets a lot better.