The volley of abuse that rains down on me now is infinitely better than the inevitable gloomy, disappointed silence that would have met an admission that I’d been visiting my father at the hospital. Her tirade is followed by a strict ban on buying any more of those dreadful fantasy books and ends with an announcement that there’ll be no pocket money or television for a while.

My mother looks around one more time before leaving the room. “You’re ruining your life, Sam!”

She shuts the door behind her and I sit there, longing to shout after her, Nothing’s the way you think it is! My father rescued a child and he’s wearing the scoobie and was dead and is in a coma. And there’s a girl at the hospital called Maddie whom I want to be with me forever. My life can never be as ruined as hers. She’ll never sit any tests and never have any opportunities. But instead I sit silently at my desk and press my fists into the tabletop.

My mother’s a wounded woman. Ever since I came into the world, I’ve been aware of a shadow hanging over her soul. There’s no need to hurt her. Sometimes I want to protect her from everything. I want to tell her I love her, but I don’t know how to go about it.

I hear Steve zapping through the channels and then my mother calls to him to come to bed. A short while later I hear a rhythmic scraping from their bedroom. It’s the head of their bed rubbing against the wallpaper as Steve and my mother make love. Nine minutes every time, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing.

Malcolm comes into my room. He doesn’t yet understand the cause of these noises. He gets into my bed, studies my face, and says quietly, “You don’t smell of smoke at all, Sammy.”

I don’t immediately answer. Malcolm is on their “side”—a member of the happy family. That’s nonsense, of course, but every time I look at him I see myself as an intruder in this family. A nuisance. Yet I also know that I’d do anything for my brother. He’s one of those people who can never understand why other people might lie or be nasty.

Malcolm sits down on my bed. “You weren’t smoking, Sammy. Where were you?”

Where was I? Good question. My life has been hacked and reformatted. Into the life I “really” ought to lead. With a father who’s lost his entire family.

Or what happens when everything changes? If your life isn’t being hacked but the world is seriously out of kilter? Maybe I’m like the barrister who steps through a secret door in his office and roams through his different lives until he can’t be sure which is the real one.