Plus, since Harriet left, that’s the first time I’ve felt like someone actually gets me … And what makes it even better is that I think I’m starting to get Annie too.

NINETEEN

I manage to avoid a fine at Little Acorns by being the first out of French and running all the way across town. I dodge nimbly around disability vehicles and scooters, and force myself to keep running even when I get a stitch. Thanks to athleticism (and a shortcut I’ve discovered through the Co-op carpark) I manage to get to Little Acorns with one minute to spare.

After I’ve picked up Elsa, I buy food and nappies. Just one bag of shopping takes our money under a hundred pounds. I nearly buy a Crunchie but decide I can’t waste a single penny, just in case we have an emergency.

Over dinner, Grandad declares that I’m totally in control of my mission and tells me to cross out today’s square on the chart. I can’t tell him I’ve still got to get through the worst bit of the day – Elsa’s bedtime – just in case he insists on coming home with us.

‘Just a few days to go!’ he says.

‘Twelve,’ I say. Ever since Mum left, Grandad’s been acting like she’s just popped out to the shops. I stir my beans into my potato. ‘Grandad,’ I say, ‘did she text you today?’

He shakes his head.

‘Email? Anything?’

‘No,’ he says, squeezing ketchup over his potato, ‘but I’m sure she’s fine.’

‘I thought she’d at least want to know how Elsa is.’ Grandad might want to pretend everything is perfect, but I don’t feel like doing that right now.

Grandad scratches his wild hair and his collection of leather bracelets slip over his arm. ‘She knows that we’ll look after Elsa. She trusts us. You’re both full, you’re clean, and I can’t see any noticeable injuries!’ He laughs when he says this, but somehow he manages to frown at the same time. ‘This is fun, Meg, like the old days.’

‘I guess so,’ I say, thinking about when Mum used to go off on one of her trips and I’d stay round here. It was fun, but I’d still get this Christmas-morning feeling when Mum walked back through the door and pulled me into her arms. She’d always smell a bit different and be buzzing with news. She’d dump her rucksack on the floor and I’d curl up on her lap as she talked to Grandad, her hands waving madly in the air as she described the children or animals she’d helped. I loved hearing her voice, but part of me always felt a bit jealous that I had to share her.

At the end of the table, Elsa drops the spoon and starts drawing patterns in her baked beans. Grandad nods at the mushy food on my plate. ‘Now, are you going to eat your dinner or do I have to feed you as well?’