Seeing her like this gave me a wicked sense of satisfaction that was better than yelling at her. Mum searching for her keys reminded me of the times I’d tried to think of all the reasons she could be held up when she wasn’t there for me, or all of the places she could be other than sitting somewhere having a drink.

And then she screamed, ‘Phoebe! Can you get off your arse and help me?’

‘No, I won’t,’ I bit back. ‘You shouldn’t get so drunk that you don’t know where you’ve left your stuff, or where I am, or what you promised me. It’s not that hard!’

She took a deep breath. I could see she was doing everything not to lose it.

‘Sweetie, I’m really sorry, this is really stressing me out.’

‘And what about me?’ I said, grabbing her keys and phone from my bag and throwing them on the table.

‘Oh, that’s not fair Phoebe! Why would you deliberately do that to me?’ she yelled.

‘Why do you always make me panic?’ I questioned calmly. ‘Why would you deliberately do that to me?’

She picked up her keys. ‘Drop it, Phoebe. Let’s go and have a nice lunch.’

‘No, Mum, you’re not driving me anywhere. You’re still too drunk to drive. I’ll call Dad to pick me up.’ I grabbed my stuff and bolted out of the house.

I thought that she’d run after me or something, but she didn’t. The one thing I was sure of was that she’d be shitting herself, thinking I was going to call Dad.

There was no way I was going to call him or tell him anything about what had happened. I messaged Katie to let her know I couldn’t make it and then I spent the afternoon catching a bus, a train and another bus home, walking in to Caitlin’s later that afternoon like everything was fine.

I could hear Dad and Caitlin in the backyard, and smell the food cooking on the barbecue and some freshly cut coriander in the kitchen. I couldn’t face them even though I was starving. I was soaking in sweat from the walk from the bus stop and still fuming from Mum’s bullshit. I still couldn’t believe it. Her behaviour made me feel so alone, like I didn’t have anyone in my corner.

When I walked into my room, I saw a flyer in the centre of my bed with my name written on it in Caitlin’s handwriting. I took a quick look – it was something about basketball tryouts. Caitlin was at it again, attempting to win stepmother of the year. I knew I should have been appreciative or something but it really annoyed me. It also reminded me of the day that Matilda made it loud and clear that she didn’t want me joining the team.