Thirty minutes ago, I was the other side of that gate. And I couldn’t wait to leave. Maybe it was just the tension of being between a parent and their drunk daughter. I would never dare do that in front of Mum, because she’d go ballistic. But it felt different. I’ve seen Jay go nuclear on Nia. I’ve seen Zak’s parents tear him a new one. It feels awkward, but it’s never felt unsettling; not until tonight.

Their house looks even bigger in the dark. In horror films, haunted houses look as old as the ghosts inside. But brand-new homes can be a different kind of terrible.

I wish I had Amy’s number so I could message her. I wish I could throw stones at her window and make sure she’s all right.

When Mum touches my shoulder, I jump out of my skin, and she says, “Sorry. Did you have fun tonight?”

The party already feels like ages ago, even though it’s still going on. “Yeah, I…it was cool.”

“You’re home early.”

I check my phone and say, “It’s a school night.”

“That doesn’t usually stop you.”

Mum wasn’t always this laid-back. She used to keep me extra close, when it was just the two of us. Sometimes there were stories on the news about kids going missing, and she would say that if I didn’t hold her hand, I’d be next.

“What were you looking at?” she asks.

All she sees is a house. She doesn’t know what might be happening inside.

I imagine telling her, because I think she’d understand. But I need evidence before I say she might have bought our house from a psychopath.

If I focus, I can still feel Amy’s dad squeeze my hand as he shook it. It hurt just enough to not be an accident.

29

“What did her parents say?” Zak asks. “Were they pissed?”

I nod and say, “I finally got into their house. And I wasted it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to see if she has a lock on the outside of her door.”

“You asked her about it, right? And she denied it. Why can’t you just believe her?”

When I don’t reply, Zak says, “I know you and your mum went through some shit, but Amy doesn’t seem trapped. She came to the party, didn’t she? So there’s nothing to worry about.”

Zak thinks the writing on my wall is someone’s idea of a joke. But he didn’t see how Amy’s dad looked at me through the gate. Let’s just say it wasn’t friendly.

“You worry too much,” Zak says.

There it is again. It will probably be on my gravestone:

Here lies Thomas Cavanagh. He worried too much.

But I don’t think I do. I think I worry exactly the right amount.