‘Who are you talking to?’ Mum queried.

All of the stress left my body as I handed my phone to her. ‘Dad.’

Mum frowned as she listened to whatever Dad was saying down the line. ‘Of course we’re all right,’ she barked at Dad. ‘Yes. Give us an hour or so, Mark, we’re not going to run away!’ She hung up the phone and handed it back to me. ‘God, your father gets his knickers in a knot sometimes. Now, tell me what you want to eat, and then tell me all about your day.’

I ordered the pizza with the lot, with the super drippy cheese and chilli oil like I always do, and because Caitlin was depriving me of any sugar, a Coke spider too.

I could tell that Mum was really interested to hear about my first day at the new school. She didn’t check her phone once, even when it was buzzing away. And she didn’t kick up a fuss when I told her about all the weird stuff like the way Michael looks and how he talks. ‘It’ll get better,’ she said. ‘Hang in there. And maybe having some tough competition on the basketball court will help you lift your game.’

I never knew that my game needed so much lifting.

We’d just finished our gelato when Dad called to let us know he’d arrived. Mum rolled her eyes.

She gave me a huge hug, a kiss on the cheek, and said, ‘I’ll see you on the weekend, kiddo.’

When I jumped into Dad’s car, he looked pretty agitated.

‘How late was your mum?’ he asked.

‘She wasn’t late at all.’

‘You don’t have to lie to me, Phoebe,’ he said, lightly resting his hand on top of the steering wheel.

I looked ahead, upset.

We sat there for at least five minutes with Dad being in his own head before I said, ‘It’s not fair that the first thing you do when you see me is have a go at Mum. You haven’t even asked me how my first day at school went.’

‘What’s not fair, Phoebe, is your mum continually promising you things and not delivering. Have you forgotten about the basketball game she missed the other day, or the times she hasn’t shown up for you?’

‘It was one game,’ I protested, but I remembered all of the times that she didn’t turn up for things, like important games I was playing in, or nights she’d promised to take me out. It was her work – there are super busy periods. It’s the same with Dad. When he’s marking essays he has no time for anything else.

Dad sighed. ‘Remember that time last year when she didn’t turn up to your semi-final? She was at the pub and blamed it on me for not reminding her!’

I felt like opening the car door and jumping out while the car was moving. Dad was being so cruel.

‘I worry about what your mum’s behaviour does to you, Phoebe,’ he continued. ‘It breaks my heart.’