“Nothing much,” I say, trying not to sound rude. Because if you say “nothing much” in a certain way, it can sound a little bit rude.

“Nothing much of what?” she says, and my heart sinks. She’s too good at this. She simply won’t be beaten.

“Dad wanted us to go to the seaside, but we didn’t go.”

“Why was that, Lizzie?”

Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. It’s one of her favorite words.

“Because Mum had a migraine and I didn’t want to eat ice cream because it didn’t seem right.”

“Why didn’t it seem right?”

“Because…because you eat ice cream on holiday and it doesn’t feel much like a holiday anymore.”

Angela Harris gives me a sad little smile. I try not to look at her face because I don’t know whether she expects me to look at her eyes or not and it’s hard to look at someone’s face if you don’t look at their eyes, so I look at her neck instead. She’s got lines round her neck, just like Mum has.

She uncrosses her legs again and sits up a little straighter. She dips her head slightly to catch my eyes. I let her catch them, but only for a second.

“How do you think it would make you feel if you did go to the seaside and eat an ice cream?” she says.

I chew the inside of my bottom lip and try to think of what I should say. If I say it would make me feel guilty, she might ask me what I’m feeling guilty about. She might think I’m feeling guilty for a really bad reason. Like pushing Alice in front of that train. That’s what she’s trying to find out if I did, and so I have to be really careful. Because I didn’t. I didn’t do that, did I? My brain hurts from all the thinking.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Angela Harris smiles again, but it’s not such a sad smile this time. It’s more of a cross sort of smile. I don’t think Angela Harris likes me much. I don’t think I like myself very much.

21

NOW

For the past three weeks, I’ve been feeling sick all day, but I’ve had all the tests Dr. Ahmed arranged and been told everything is fine and that the sickness is normal—a good sign that the pregnancy is healthy. Evenings are the only time I feel remotely human, and tonight I’ve been well enough to eat a takeaway curry. Nothing too spicy, mind. A chicken korma and a plain naan. Ross has had his usual lamb madras.