I can’t take much more of this. It’s nearly nine and if Mum doesn’t turn up soon, I’m going to have to ring Grandad. The more Elsa screams the more illogical my thoughts become and I start to worry that something bad must have happened to Mum. I imagine car crashes, ambulance sirens, police officers knocking at the door. I even wonder if Mum’s been arrested for creating a security risk at Gatwick. This worry isn’t entirely illogical. Mum once stormed the runway at Heathrow dressed as a polar bear. She only got out of going to prison because she was eight months’ pregnant with me.

Scream … Scream … Scream …

I shut my eyes and try to remember what silence sounds like. And then, amazingly, after one long massive wail, Elsa stops crying! I hold my breath and press my ear against the door. Could she have fallen asleep mid-cry? I try to breathe as quietly as possible, listening for any snuffle or movement. My heart thuds in my chest.

Now I’m worried that she’s too quiet.

Then I hear a cough, a whimper, and the screaming starts again, only now it’s louder than ever. She was just resting her lungs for the next set of screams!

And that’s when I hear something else cutting through her cries: the phone.

I scramble to my feet and run into the front room, grabbing the phone. ‘Hello?’ I say.

There’s no reply, but I can hear muffled voices, laughter, and then a banging sound.

‘Mum? Is that you?’

‘Meg!’

‘Mum!’ I sink to the ground, pressing the phone tight against my ear. I burst out laughing. ‘When are you coming home? Elsa’s nearly puked from crying and I don’t know how to get her to stop …’ I trail off. On the other end of the line I can hear a rumbling sound and it’s getting louder. An icy feeling runs through me. ‘Mum, what’s going on?’

‘You’ll never guess where I am.’ Her voice is breathless, excited. With a sinking feeling, I realise I recognise that voice: it’s the one she uses when she’s about to embark on a mercy mission. She’s used it before to say things like, ‘I’m thinking of adopting a blind cat,’ or, ‘I’ve volunteered to come in to your school to talk about teenage pregnancy.’

‘Just tell me where you are,’ I say.

‘On a plane!’

‘What?’ I grip the phone.

‘I’m going to Myanmar!’

For a moment, the words don’t make sense to me and I wonder if Myanmar is some music festival. But, then my GCSE geography skills kick in and I remember that Myanmar is a country near Thailand, a country that’s thousands of miles away. She must be joking. ‘Mum,’ I say, ‘did you say you’re going to Myanmar?’

‘Yes! Look, I’m sorry to dump Elsa on you, but when I was picking up Sara she started telling me about how the aid agency she’s working for desperately need volunteers and then she showed me these pictures of beautiful children. Meg, fifty per cent of child deaths in Myanmar are preventable and I’ve got nursing training! When I found that out, I knew I had to drop everything and –’