In the end, it was agreed that it would be best if I went back to my family. After all, what else was I going to do? I’m fifteen years old, with no formal education and no family or friends. It’s basically this or foster care, so this seems like the better option. At least I will be making Karen happy, if nothing else.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,’ I say. We both get out of the car and walk up the short path to the ratty-looking green-painted door. I feel a stab of disappointment and then hate myself for it. In my mind, when I’d heard my family lived in London, I’d pictured something grander, like I’d seen in the films. Our farmhouse was shabby, cold and dilapidated, but there was plenty of room, both inside and out. This place looks tiny and there are other houses right next to it. Ellie rings the doorbell and steps back.

The door is opened by Karen, who I am supposed to think of as Mum. We’ve only met once, in the hospital, and last time I was too upset and overwhelmed to take much in. Today I am feeling calmer, largely thanks to the anti-anxiety medication that was sorted out for me in the hospital to help me cope with everything. I can see that neither of us is very tall, but I can’t see any other similarities between us. She is wearing a headscarf again and this time I notice that her eyebrows are clearly pencilled on. Her wrap dress has a bright, lurid print which matches the scarf and I wonder if she planned in advance what she should wear for my homecoming. Did she think about what kind of impression she’d like to make on me, her daughter, as I arrived back within the family fold? I look down at my horrible hospital-issued tracksuit bottoms and am embarrassed at my appearance. I wish I’d had something better to wear to be introduced properly to my family. Because I guess that’s what they are, like it or not, and I need to try to get used to the idea. It still seems kind of impossible though.

‘Laura!’ she gushes, leaning forward as if to kiss me on the cheek, and then backing off as if she realizes I might not be ready for that kind of thing yet. I’m relieved that she doesn’t try to call me Anna. I’m guessing someone has told her not to. ‘We’ve been so looking forward to you coming.’

She ushers Ellie and me into a small kitchen where a boy who looks a few years older than me is sitting at a table, fiddling with his phone. I recognize him vaguely as the boy who came to the hospital. He looks up when I come in, puts his phone down and smiles at me.