‘It’s so delicious, Mum,’ I told her, encouraging her to eat before I scoffed it all.

‘I’ll get a plate. Do you want one?’ Mum asked as she walked into the kitchen, taking her glass of wine with her.

‘No thanks.’ I hit play on the Michael Jordan documentary The Last Dance. Being away from Dad and Caitlin for a little while made me feel a lot more chill, even when Mum poured another glass of wine. But when she poured another, I said, ‘Mum, haven’t you had enough?’

‘Phoebe, it’s the end of the week … and god it’s been a huge week.’

Fair enough, I thought. It’s not as if I wasn’t enjoying kicking back with Michael Jordan, a pizza and my guts bursting with Coke.

I was more than ready to jump in bed when the doco finished. I missed my room and wanted to make the most of a night sleeping beneath the air con.

‘Are you going to bed now, Mum?’

‘You go, Pheebs. I’ll finish this,’ she said, peering at about a quarter of a huge glass of wine.

‘I’ll see you in the morning then.’

I messaged Katie:

I slept until nine, and then checked my phone. After flicking through Instagram for a while, my rumbling stomach and the thought of cold pizza overtook how much I wanted to lie about without distraction.

Before heading to the cold pizza I made my way to Mum’s room. She wasn’t there. I checked in the lounge room and, sure enough, Mum was asleep on the couch.

Her lips were encrusted with red wine and the bottle was empty.

So much for just finishing that glass before bed.

I took a piece of cold pizza from the table and switched on a music channel.

Mum opened one eye, closed it, rolled over and snuggled into the cushions.

‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘After nine.’

‘Good, I needed a sleep-in.’

An old Red Hot Chili Peppers song came on the TV. It reminded me of Dad.

‘I need some water,’ Mum said, dragging herself off of the couch. ‘What time do you want me to drop you at Katie’s?’

‘As soon as possible, Mum. I’m dying to see Katie and Jane.’

I was glad that Mum remembered she was my ride, although I wasn’t sure if she was just being nice or wanted me out of her hair so that she could sleep through the day. She had a shower, though, which I guess meant she was half serious about doing something.

But when we got into the car, there was sweat beading on her forehead. She looked a bit grey until the air con kicked in.

When we pulled into Katie’s driveway, Mum said, ‘Want me to say hi to Katie’s parents?’

My stomach tightened, remembering the conversation between Dad and Katie’s father.

‘No need. I’ll message you when I’m ready to be picked up,’ I told her.