I follow him again, through a door marked SHOWROOM. If outside was like Santa’s workshop, this could be his outlet store. The chunky shelves are crammed with beautiful things: a farmyard jigsaw, a miniature doll’s house, a sailing boat with stamp-sized fabric sails and a bearded captain figure at the helm. ‘Did you make any of these things?’

He hands me a bowl: the grain of the wood is smooth and warm under my fingers, the same colour as Harrison’s skin.

‘It’s amazing. Have you always been good at woodwork?’

Finn blushes. ‘No way. Probation officer got me a placement. I – well, I was inside. This is meant to be my fresh start.’

I stare at him. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s been to prison before.’

Finn gives me a weird look: he must think I’m a bit rude. ‘How do you know? People don’t wear a sign round their necks.’ He pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie, but not before I have time to see thick lines inked on his wrist.

The tattoo: did he get that ‘inside’? ‘Was it horrible? Being in prison?’

‘Not as hard as being at home when your stepdad hates you. But jail changes you. When you get out, the people you left are the same. But you’ll never be the same again.’

And I want to say, Yes! I know how that feels, but I guess he’d be freaked out if I told him about my brain tumour and the hospital.

‘So how long have you been coming here?’ I ask. Get me, Queen of Small Talk.

‘I’m three months in. It’s good here because we’ve all been through the same shit.’ He blushes deeper. ‘The same stuff.’

Like hospital school, except there the kids are younger than me, and it’s not like I can chat to a Year Four kid about why I still have a chest as flat as when I was eight.

Finn is waiting for me to say something.

‘What happens after you leave here?’

‘Dan and Sue help us find apprenticeships. Hardly anyone who gets to the end goes back inside, thanks to your dad.’

‘Wow. That’s amazing.’

‘None of us knew he had a daughter, but it makes sense.’ Finn is still talking. ‘He’s patient. And he gets us. I guess because he’s been there.’

‘Been where?’

Finn shakes his head. ‘I . . . um, because he’s a dad. Used to dealing with big kids.’

I smile, but it doesn’t totally make sense. Because my father hasn’t been a father to me – or anyone – until the last three weeks.

Dad drives me back. The jeep’s high up, so I see loads of places I’d like to go to. Four weeks in Bristol isn’t long enough. Four years wouldn’t be.

Even if my dad wants me around after next week, I think Mum will try to stop that happening. But will he stand up to her? I need to know.

‘So what’s left on your wish list, Casey?’