In the end, we are ready soon. I tell them my version. It’s basics though. They don’t need to know nothing extra about me. Why should I tell them that I’m no good at art and I can’t spell very well, but I can look at something and work out how to make it in wool? Or how I kicked the white paint across the shed to stop myself crying when I couldn’t see Kandi?

“So you admit to stabbing Mr Morrisey?” Roberto says.

Mr Morrisey? Like I’m ever gonna call Blake “Mr”.

“Stabbing is an emotive word,” Vera says.

“It’s the word she – my client – used herself,” Roberto replies.

Vera leans forward again as she says, “Which makes it sound like grievous bodily harm. It was just his hand.”

“A knitting needle being stabbed through a hand could be considered grievous,” Roberto says.

“It wasn’t through his hand!” Vera shouts. “It was the skin between his thumb and finger!”

“His right hand! Mr Morrisey is right-handed!” Roberto stretches his hand out and wiggles his thumb. “There could be potential damage to a nerve. Or even to a tendon.”

“Worst-case scenario,” Vera says. “You are not here to make matters worse.”

I close my eyes and let them carry on with their word battle. I think of Blake grabbing the tea towel and wrapping it round his hand. I remember all the names he called me before the police came. He yelled that the damage better not be permanent or I’d be sorry. Then I remember Annie turning round to look at me before she helped Blake out the door. Just a look. No words. “Mr Morrisey” called me a psycho. Even my damn lawyer seems to agree with him.

I don’t say nothing else until the interview starts. Then I tell them, “I stabbed Blake in the hand with my knitting needle. And no, I’m not sorry.”

Chapter 5

Emergency foster place! Here I am! Charlene’s in the house for one night only! There’s no need to get comfortable. The foster carer’s called … Man, my head’s too mashed to remember.

The foster carer is used to kids like me. She even has spare PJs in my size. She actually opened a drawer in the bedroom where I’m staying and told me to take my pick. The drawer was full of pyjamas, all sizes and colours. She offered me a sandwich and a drink and time to chill and a listening ear if I needed it. I took the sandwich and hot chocolate and closed the bedroom door. I didn’t mean to be rude. I did say thank you. See, Annie? I listened to you, right?