‘Right,’ Mum said, and I knew what was going through her mind. She was wondering how she was going to get me to school each day.

‘You’re welcome to stay at our place if that makes things easier,’ Dad offered.

I was dying of guilt for not telling Dad about how Mum had lost her licence, but it was too late to say something now.

‘Thanks but no thanks,’ she told Dad.

‘Why don’t you just stay there, Mum?’ I said. ‘You can sleep in my bed.’

‘I’ll think about it. Anyway, Mark, it’s all okay. I’ll gladly have Pheebs. We’ll have fun, won’t we darling?’

‘Sure Mum,’ I said.

‘Anything else, Mark?’ Mum said.

‘Nah, I think that’s it,’ Dad answered. ‘We’ll see you later.’

‘See ya, Pheebs,’ Mum said before hanging up.

I felt sick with guilt and worry and just wanted to get home and into bed.

When I woke the next morning, panic set in. My first thought was about Dad and Caitlin being in New Zealand, without me, and mostly I wondered how Mum was going to get me from Nana’s to school without a licence. There was no way I wanted to be up at the crack of dawn and on public transport for two hours.

I lay in bed frozen, looking at the ceiling. Then I was rolling around agitated, wanting to hit something, before I felt drained. A few minutes later I felt angry again.

Caitlin popped her head through the door, all smiles. ‘Do you want a cup of tea, Phoebe?’

‘No,’ I managed to say. It took so much effort.

‘It’s a beautiful day. We should make the most of it,’ she told me and I started to stress thinking about the homework that I needed to do. Getting out of bed seemed unimaginable; homework seemed impossible.

It must have been about ten thirty when Dad came into my room. ‘Big sleep-in,’ he said, obviously prompting me to get my arse out of bed.

‘I think I’m sick.’

Dad came over and placed his palms on my head. He’s a uni lecturer and all, but he’s also really strong in our cultural ways. He told me that my great-grandfather taught him that when you have a headache, you should cup your skull with your hands and think about your father and grandfathers. That it would take the headache away.

Dad held his hands with slight pressure on my head. ‘Bub, you need to get out into the sun, it’s our medicine. Get up and let’s go for a walk.’

‘Nah, can’t,’ is all I said.

‘Wandi,’ he said. No. ‘Move your murntu. You’ll feel better.’

I threw on some trackpants, sneakers and a jumper and shuffled out into the living room. Caitlin handed me a glass of water with a dash of apple cider vinegar and lemon in it.