I spray Hobnob crumbs down my front in my hurry to answer. “Got a B in geography.” Suddenly it doesn’t seem good enough, though I was happy with it earlier, especially as maps make me feel dizzy and dwarfed. The world’s so huge and I’ve never been outside the Midlands. When the weather forecast does its sweep of the country I feel embarrassingly breathless, unnerved but mesmerized by the scattering of cities, the peep of Europe in the bottom-right corner of the screen.

“That’s my girl,” Mum says, and I beam. She’s still distracted, though. She’s only nibbled half a biscuit, hasn’t raised an eyebrow about the two I’ve gobbled before dinner.

“Amy got detention,” I tell her. For extra drama I add: “Her third this week!”

Mum does an uh-oh face at me and I giggle.

“What did she do this time?” she asks.

“Miss Stone found cigarettes in her pocket. But they were actually her nan’s.”

“Didn’t Miss Stone believe her?”

“You know Scary Stoney.”

Mum laughs mid-bite, and I feel like I’ve won a prize. “Stern Stoney,” she says.

“Shouty Stoney.” I grin.

We’re just warming to it, thinking of more S-words, when I hear the front door and my heart dives. Even the sound of him coming in and kicking off his shoes infuriates me. He doesn’t knock anymore. Leaves his sneakers next to ours as if he’s one of the family.

“Hi, girls,” he calls in his posh voice—well, posh compared to us, anyway. He’s from down south, somewhere. I think he moved up here for work. Even though he’s been Mum’s boyfriend for seven months now, and our downstairs neighbor for a few more before that, I know almost nothing about him.

He strolls over to Mum and kisses her. I can’t help watching, can’t help feeling he’s squeezing her too tight. After they’ve pulled apart, his hand paws her hair.

“Cup of tea?” he asks, even though surely he can see we’re in the middle of one.

To my surprise, Mum says, “I’ll have another, thanks, darling.” It annoys me that she calls him “darling” when she calls most people “love.” And that she’s having another cup of tea just because he’s offered.

“Can’t tempt you?” he asks me, waggling the teapot. He always uses the pot instead of just plonking the bags into the cups like I do. Maybe Mum prefers it that way, doesn’t want to hurt my feelings by saying so. Maybe she’ll pour away the second half of the mug I’ve made.

I shake my head, mumble something about homework. Mum offers me a smile as I flee the room, but he doesn’t glance at me. He’s staring at Mum, like always.

5.

EMMA