‘Katherine, why did you do that?’ her mum complains, creasing her forehead as she plucks each candle out. Katherine considers saying sorry, but decides against it. The only time she’s smiled today was when she opened the card from her dad. There was one hundred Australian dollars inside (for when you come visit me) and two photos. The first is of him hugging his dog, a short-haired Australian Kelpie called Hooper. In the other, he’s with a massive tan-coloured cow, name unknown. But then the realisation hit – she’s 16 and has never met her own father – and the gloom descended again.

‘Me and Gabby made you a present,’ Sofia pipes up, her little hand wound around her sister’s. ‘Would you like it?’

‘You made it?’ she asks. God, why do they have to be so nice?

‘Well, sort of.’ Sofia looks up at Javier, who nods his encouragement, his features slack with adoration. ‘Daddy helped us a bit. It was his idea, but me and Gabby drew the cover all by ourselves.’

‘Sofia, why don’t you let Katherine open her present before you tell her all the details?’ Javier suggests gently, an affectionate tease in his voice.

‘Oops!’ Sofia giggles, and Katherine tries not to notice how sweet the sound is. She watches Sofia pick the present out of the small pile on their dining room table and proffer it towards her.

She peels off the wrapping paper and pulls out a hard-backed book with blank pages inside. The cover is a blast of colour. Katherine’s Journal is written in large bubble writing, and there are drawings of flowers, trees and most of the cast of Toy Story spread across the front and back. She runs her thumbs gently over the designs. ‘I love it,’ she says, half meaning it.

‘They spent hours on it. Huddled over their little table in the playroom, heads together,’ Javier says.

Katherine scratches her cheek.

‘I hope you like the idea of a journal too,’ he continues. ‘I thought it would be good for you to have an outlet, somewhere to exorcise all that teenage angst.’

Rage shoots up Katherine’s spine and splutters out of her mouth, disguised as a cough. What the fuck does Javier know? Any angst that she’s feeling isn’t to do with her age. It’s caused by him, stealing her mum, looking down his judgemental nose at her. Making it obvious where she sits in their family hierarchy. Hot tears burn the backs of her eyeballs. She blinks and turns to face her mum. ‘I’m going out.’

‘But what about your presents from Javier and me?’