I pull the kitchen door shut behind me. The plan is to slip half the powder into his beer and half into his food. Pouring crumbled pills into the neck of a glass bottle is trickier than I’d anticipated, especially with trembling hands. I do what I can, and use the handle of a long spoon to stir as quietly as possible. Then I glance around again. The bacon’s cooling in the frying pan but I can’t see the scrambled eggs. I yank open the microwave to find a bowl in there, the yellow mixture starting to solidify. Luckily there’s enough liquid to dissolve the remainder of the crushed tablets. Putting back the bowl, though, I’m struck by doubt. What if a normal dose of pills won’t make him sick? He’s much bigger than Becca: They might have nowhere near the same effect. And what if he doesn’t eat all the scrambled eggs, or drink enough beer? He could end up with only a fraction of the powder in his stomach, and I’ll have to watch him take my mum away.

I jump at the sound of his returning footsteps, leaping away from the microwave as the kitchen door creaks.

“Couldn’t find it,” he says, strolling back in. “She’ll live.”

I can’t speak. My cheeks are on fire. Nick looks at me curiously, then his eyes move back to his bacon, cold and fatty on the stove. “Don’t feel that hungry anymore.” He lifts the hem of his T-shirt to wipe some dust from his face.

“Mum’d be cross if you wasted it.”

“True! Don’t want to start the weekend on a sour note.” He grabs a plate and sticks a couple of slices of bacon onto it. I think he’s going to stop at that, but to my relief he takes the eggs from the microwave and tips out the whole lot, splattering them in brown sauce before sitting down at the table.

He pauses as his fork heads for his mouth. “Want some?”

I shake my head.

“I’ll leave you some money.” The forkful hovers. “You can have a takeaway on me later.” In it goes. Will there be a strange taste, a gritty texture? He chews slowly, then follows it with another mouthful, washing it down with a swig of beer. I realize I’m watching too intently, and busy myself clearing pots. The sounds of him eating and drinking continue behind me. I mumble something about Becca and flee the kitchen.

Just as I’m about to go back into my room, the phone in the hall rings. I don’t want Nick to leave his food to answer it, so I grab the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, love.” It’s Mum. My heart judders. What would she say if she knew what I’d just done? Would she be horrified? Grateful?