I hit play on the backing track and started to sing, and Ingrid looked on smiling ever so slightly. There was a big difference between listening to the instrumental track in my bedroom and singing along to it. When I sang along to it, it was hard not to think about Mum. It almost made me cry. I hadn’t heard from her in a week, and knew that Dad had probably called her and blown up at her. I didn’t know how to fix things between us.

When I stopped singing, Ingrid gave me a massive smile. ‘Phoebe, that is really great. You should feel confident that you are going to give an amazing performance. You should consider rehearsing another song, too,’ she encouraged.

I considered Ingrid’s suggestion. I was starting to regret choosing to sing ‘Time After Time’ because of how singing it made me feel. But in my heart of hearts, I wished that Mum would hear me sing the song, and that it might be the exact thing that makes her realise that I need her, and that she needs to give up drinking for good.

I thought about how I might be able to sing the song without getting too emotional. Maybe I had to visualise that basketball opponent with the toilet paper hanging out the back of her shorts?

‘I think I just want to get this song really right,’ I told Ingrid, and she seemed to understand.

‘Why did you pick “Time After Time”?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been singing along to it since I was a little kid. It’s one of my mum’s favourite songs.’

‘And she’ll be there on the night of the performance?’

‘Yes, she will.’

‘That’s really beautiful. I’m sure she’ll love it and I think you made a wise choice performing something that you know really well. That way we can focus on developing your performance because no matter how many times you perform, each performance brings its own set of nerves and challenges.’ ‘So I’m doing okay?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she said and I felt relieved. ‘Keep practising until it’s perfect.’

On the way home from school, Mum finally sent me a text message, asking if I wanted to spend the weekend with her.

When I got home from school, Caitlin was sitting at the kitchen table doing some work on her laptop. ‘How were things back at school?’

‘Yeah, it was pretty light on,’ I answered. ‘The teachers were all relaxed with me about completing tasks and things.’

‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Would you like some soup? It’s on the stove.’

‘I’m okay, I’ve got homework to do,’ I said, getting up from the table.