Annie had to get a cab from the yoga studio because she didn’t want to lose her parking space, so we have to walk home. Well, it’s more of a trot. Annie doesn’t know how to walk slow. I try to tell her that I’ll be all right to go home by myself, but she’s having none of it.

“You’re angry, Charlene,” Annie says. “I’m not leaving you yet. I’ve already asked Umbereen to take my next class. She’s better with the beginners than I am anyway.”

I almost say it then. “Sorry for causing you stress.”

But then Annie says, “Sometimes you need to hold it down, Charlene. It wasn’t easy to get you into that school. I was really hoping you’d make the most of it.”

“I am making the most of it,” I say.

“By telling Charity to – well, you know exactly what you told her to do.”

“Because she’s igno—”

“Yes!” Annie cuts me off.

We’ve reached the house and Annie jabs the key at the lock. She misses.

“Charity is ignorant!” Annie says. “You’ve made that very clear! But the world’s full of ignorant people and you can’t swear at all of them!” She stabs the lock again. This time the key slips in.

I run straight upstairs to my bedroom. Annie calls up something about lunch, but I don’t answer. I spot the tote bag. Annie must have brought it up here. I pull out my knitting, but the needles won’t move smooth. My wool feels like it’s full of salt – like my hair when I’ve been for a swim in the sea. Then I drop a stitch. And another one.

There’s a knock on the door. Annie’s holding a steaming mug. It’s one of her herbal brews, but she knows she’s got to add three spoons of sugar if I’m gonna drink it.

Annie places the mug on the coaster she gave me for my birthday because she was fed up of the mug rings on the bedside drawers. She had it made for me specially. It’s got my face on it, but it looks like my face has been knitted.

Annie spreads Kandi’s blanket across the bed.

“Great work,” she says.

I don’t say nothing. My throat’s tight and I want to pull the knitting out of her hands. Annie’s wrong. I want it to be perfect, but now it’s got holes.

“Your sister’s going to love this,” Annie says.

“It’s rubbish.” I realise I sound like a three year old, but that’s how I feel. “It’s all mucked up.”

Annie looks at it more closely. “Ah. I see your problem.” She picks up my needles. “May I?”