I could never talk to my parents about what was happening then. About all the things I’d overheard or guessed or figured out. Mum tried to talk to me sometimes. She told me we could talk about anything. No feelings or thoughts were off-limits. I always told her I was fine. I didn’t want to make her sad when I knew how sad she was already. The day I heard about the divorce, I ran down to Izzy’s house and cried on her bedroom floor while Hannah rubbed circles on my back. Once I could breathe again, Izzy made us popcorn and gave us each a hairbrush and we sang along to Mamma Mia! When I went home, I could tell my mum I was OK and I could almost mean it.

The kitchen looked the same now as it did then: same island, same big clock on the wall that we forgot to put forward when the time changed, same broken tile by the dishwasher. It felt different, though. It didn’t feel lived in, all chaos and cooking smells; it felt neglected, empty. And this time I was on the other side of the door for the hard conversations.

“I don’t see why you have to marry her,” I said, changing tack. I hated hearing all the stupid financial stuff. Like Mum’s disease boiled down to how much it cost us. “Why do you have to keep changing everything?”

“Saoirse, I love Beth. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.” He said it like he thought I’d finally understand. Like it would make everything clear.

Words didn’t mean anything to him. Words like love or marriage or we’ll take care of you.

“The rest of your life?” I shook my head. “Isn’t that what you told Mum too?”

5.

I sat in front of the mirror, grappling with an eyeliner pencil and grumbling to myself. I couldn’t believe Dad was making me meet the woman he’d been cheating with for the last year.

OK, we can argue about the technicalities if you want. Yes, Dad is technically divorced, and he can’t exactly have a normal marriage with Mum, but other people do it. Other people stick by their partner when stuff like this happens. I’ve seen it on TV, read articles about wives and husbands who spend the rest of their lives caring for their spouse even if they’re in a coma or something. The bottom line is Dad is too selfish for that.

I wasn’t putting makeup on to impress her or because it was an important event or anything. Because it wasn’t. And it’s not like I had anywhere else to be that night. I wasn’t going to Ruby’s birthday. I’d basically forgotten it was even the same night. I put the perfume and eyeliner on for myself, all right?