They tell me I woke up twice before I actually spoke. I don’t remember that. There is so much that’s been wiped from my memory.

But the first time I really remember waking up, she was there.

‘Joel?’

At first, her features were blurred, like I had snow in my eyes.

‘Joel!’ She was shouting now. ‘Stay awake. OK? I’m Kerry. Kerry Smith. From school.’

She said it like she didn’t expect me to recognize her or even know her name. But I knew plenty about Kerry Smith. When we were in year 7, I followed her and Tim bloody Palmer home from school every day.

Sometimes, instead of heading up towards the avenue and my own huge house with its electronic gates and triple garage, I’d hang back and watch Kerry instead. I thought her house, with its plastic hanging baskets and that yellow Fiesta parked badly on the narrow drive, was the definition of ‘normal’. And normal was what I wanted.

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays her mum didn’t work, so she’d greet Kerry with a hug and a glass of orange juice. The other days, Kerry would watch Casualty or ER. One time, there was this massive row between Kerry and her big sister, Marilyn: cushions, magazines and a bright red shoe sped past the window. I couldn’t hear what they said through the double-glazing but they made up within minutes. I envied them. I had no one at home to argue with, though the fridge was always full and we had Sky Sports years before anyone else I knew.

‘Joel?’ Kerry repeated. Behind her, zombies in white moved so quietly I thought they must have been floating. Was this heaven or hell, or something else completely?

‘What’s happened?’ My throat felt like someone had sandpapered it. I couldn’t feel the rest of my body except for my hand, which throbbed as if I’d been stung by a bee.

‘I should get your dad; he’s only in the waiting room.’

Dad’s here? This was serious.

‘And your mum will be here in the early hours. She’s been desperate to get home but the flights from Australia were booked solid.’

Mum was going to leave a live broadcast, her first presenting gig in ages, to be with me? It didn’t get more serious than that.

‘What time is it?’

Kerry glanced up above me. I tried to move my head but it didn’t budge.

‘It’s ten thirty. At night.’

Why was she lying to me? There hadn’t been more than a few minutes until midnight when I was playing football near the West Pier.

And Dad? Dad was at home, drinking champagne, probably shagging some girl who wasn’t Mum. Because Mum was on air on the other side of the world . . .