And then I imagined him asking me, ‘Hey, where does your mum live?’ and being embarrassed having to explain Mum was living at Nana’s and having to explain why. Meanwhile, there was Trent’s cool mum with her tattoo and cafe and his architect dad living a normal life.

Eventually, I slept and was surprised it was close to nine when I woke up. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, hearing Mum and Nana’s chatting coming from the small combined kitchen and living area.

When I finally walked out of my room, Mum was sitting on the couch with a blanket over her lap, staring at the news and gripping a cup of coffee like her life depended on it.

In terms of a Saturday morning hangover, on a scale from one to ten I reckon Mum was at about an eight.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, dear?’ Nana asked.

‘Yes please, Nana,’ I said as I stretched up to the sky. I thought, I may as well get it over and done with and turned to Mum. ‘When are we going to get our things from our house?’

‘Let’s have breakfast first,’ Mum answered unenthusiastically, giving no explanation about the move and not even seeing the problem with me knowing what was going on even though she hadn’t told me about it.

‘And what time do you think we’ll be finished? Can you drop me at Jane’s when we’re done?’

Mum looked at me like she’d seen a ghost.

‘I’m having a shower,’ Nana said and left the room super-fast.

‘So can you drop me?’ I repeated.

‘Maybe Nana can. I’m not feeling great,’ Mum said.

‘Bronwyn, you have to tell her,’ Nana called out from the small hallway between her room and the shower.

I frowned. ‘Tell me what?’

Mum took another sip of her coffee and grimaced. ‘I can’t drive for a little while.’

‘What? Why?’ I said, dreading the worst.

‘It’ll just be a little while.’

‘For how long? Why?’ I questioned again.

‘I’ve lost my licence for six months,’ she answered, like it was no big deal.

‘Six months!’ I said. ‘That’s ages!’

‘It’ll pass in no time.’

‘Why did you lose your licence?’

‘Speeding fines.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really!’ Mum bit back before turning the volume down on the television. ‘Trust me, Phoebe, there’s no one that thinks this sucks more than me. I’m going to have to catch buses and Ubers everywhere.’

I could tell that Mum hadn’t even thought about how losing her licence was going to affect how often she got to see me. All she was thinking about was herself, how she was going to get to work, and probably get to see Simon. She didn’t even mention anything about working out a way to keep seeing me. I was so angry.