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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

Mum’s fork clatters against the edge of her plate. I stop. Mum looks at me for a long time. A very long time. And I can see tears are starting to rise up in the corners of her eyes. Again, I want very much to be back upstairs in the safety of my room.

But all she says, very quietly, is ‘Don’t you ever use your dad’s…’ Then she tails off.

We sit in silence for what feels like ages. Then she stands up and leaves.

I hear her bedroom door close upstairs and stare at the wisps of steam rising slowly from her second undrunk mug of tea.

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY ONE

It’s the thud of the front door closing that wakes me up the next morning. I’m vaguely aware of Mum’s car engine dwindling into the distance, then I realise it must be late and I sit bolt upright.

It is late. Very.

I quickly pull on my uniform and run downstairs – almost at the same time – ready to throw a glass of water down my throat and grab a slice of bread, when I stop myself. Why rush? If Mum wanted me to go to school, she would have woken me up.

On the table, there’s a note. Get some more rest. See you when I get home. Mum x.

Vindicated, I wander into the lounge and slump down in front of the tail end of breakfast television, scrolling through the channels of news and lifestyle shows. There are hospital closures, accidents, a couple of celebrity babies, and a hyper-intelligent cat who can talk to her owner through text messages she types with a massive, homemade keypad. There are six buttons on it – one for food, one for treats, three for different toys or games, and one that just has a big heart on it. The man who owns the cat is sitting on the uncomfortable-looking sofa in the studio and saying that the cat tells him she loves him at least six times every day, and both presenters are smiling at the fat tabby asleep on his lap.

I get up only to make tea, collect biscuits, and – once – to change out of my uniform and put my dressing gown on.

Just after eleven o’clock, there’s a knock on the door. I freeze. Thankfully I didn’t open the curtains so they can’t see I’m in here. They might be able to hear the TV though. It’s probably just the postman; he knows to put parcels in the shed if there’s no one home.