Her pillow was sodden. She heard her phone ringing but ignored it. There was no point in anything. Food, drink, music, Instagram, and Snapchat: nothing interested her. Rupert, their ginger feline, snuggled up to her, and only the softness of his fur gave her any sense of reality. Every time she ran her hand over his ears and he purred gently, she felt something to hold onto, something to make sense of. She didn’t trust anything else, not even being with her dad or Jordan. Dad was trying to keep his shit together, she knew that much. She’d screamed at him to lose it, to shout and punch something, but he refused. She knew he was doing it for their benefit, but it was driving her mad. Jordan was in his own room, hiding too. Grandma was with Dad and another man downstairs. They spoke in hushed whispers and Millie couldn’t bear it.

She overheard the man telling her dad that his department was being given everything they needed. She heard Dad call him Neil. She heard Neil call her mum’s killer a bastard. That was too good for whoever had done it. They’d debated the death penalty at school and Millie had listened to both sides, taking on board the whole issue of human rights and forgiveness. But she wanted her mother’s killer to hang. No, in fact, she wanted to stab him herself. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in her mind that she could go through with it. Easy.

She heard Grandma crying, and she wanted to go to her but didn’t have the energy to move. Grandma had hugged her and said things that Millie couldn’t recall now; she’d also made food that she couldn’t remember eating. She assumed it was shock that had made her zone out. No one could say anything to make it better.

There was a light knock on her door and she ignored it. If anyone came in, she’d roll over and pretend to be asleep. Everyone thought she was traumatised. But it wasn’t trauma; it was fucking anger. Her mum was the kindest, funniest, purest friend she had. She was her soulmate and always had been. Not three seconds elapsed before something popped into her head to tell her, and now she couldn’t. The realisation that she’d never see her again hurt in every bone. Her heart felt as though it might break, the pain was so bad, and she struggled to breathe, willing herself to find a path through the fog. There was another knock. She ignored it again, hoping that whoever it was would just give up. The door opened and she closed her eyes tightly, lying very still. They’d leave any moment, she thought.

‘Mills.’ It was Jordan. ‘I know you’re not asleep, you muppet.’

‘Fuck off.’ It was an affectionate brush-off and she turned over and smiled weakly.