And get out of an awkward conversation, I think, but still I nod and say, ‘OK, thanks, Grandad.’

Just as he’s leaving the room, he stops and drums his fingers on the doorframe. ‘I know Alice drives you up the wall, but have you ever wondered what life would be like if she was different?’ He raises one finger up in the air and says dramatically, ‘One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star!’

Whenever Grandad speaks like this, I know he’s quoting someone and he’s expecting me to say who it is. I haven’t a clue about this one so I take a guess. ‘Was that Nietzsche?’ If in doubt, I always go with Nietzsche or Galileo.

‘Well done!’

‘And what you’re saying is …’

‘The greatest ideas and innovations are often the result of chaos.’

‘Yeah, and they’re also often the result of going to school and getting good GCSE results instead of sitting around in your mum’s bedroom looking after your sister!’ I flop back on the bed.

He laughs. ‘Well, maybe,’ then he shouts for Pongo. ‘I hope he’s in a hunting mood. I fancy rabbit pie for dinner.’

‘He catches more squirrels than rabbits.’

‘That’ll do,’ he says, then he gives Elsa a last stroke on the head and clips on Pongo’s lead. ‘We’ll be back in an hour or so.’ Just before he goes, he turns and raises his fist in the air. ‘Poyekhali, Meg!’

Poyekhali. It means ‘Let’s go’ in Russian and it’s what Yuri Gagarin said the moment his rocket blasted off from Earth and he became the first human being to visit space. Basically it’s Grandad’s motto for life; he’s got it tattooed on his arm, and so has Mum. I bet she took a look at it when she got on that plane to Myanmar.

Usually I’d shout, ‘Poyekhali!’ back, but right now I’m feeling that my family could do with a bit less adventurous spirit. Instead, I say, ‘Watch out for badger holes,’ and Grandad’s punched fist dissolves into a wave.

THIRTY-SEVEN

With Elsa asleep and Pongo out with Grandad, the flat is unusually quiet.

I take advantage of the unexpected free time and have a long bath, then I sit on the floor next to Elsa’s cot and start writing an English essay. Every now and then I stick my hand through the bars to feel her forehead. At some point, I get distracted by Facebook. Annie’s sent me a picture of a skull-shaped asteroid and her message reads: I’ve found something we can both appreciate.

I go on her page and lose myself looking at her life, or at least the life she wants to share. She’s got a lot of friends and I recognise some of them from Sixth Form, and she seems to be into animals, living or dead. She reposts pictures of badly stuffed animals, and there are also films of donkeys wagging their tails and puppies wearing clothes. Oh, and her rats. She might have as many pictures of her rats as I have of moons.