Five days later I began the process of boxing up the entire house to get ready for the move. I knew Dad would be lax about getting everything together. He always underestimated how long things took, resulting in him being late for basically everything. It made me mad that while I was the one who didn’t want to move, I was still doing all the work.

I thought maybe it would be sad, packing away the last ten years or so. I had visions of myself wistfully examining knickknacks and crying a single tear of reminiscence. Actually, it was so painfully boring that I didn’t have the energy for that kind of carry-on. I cut myself several times when I overenthusiastically used the tape gun to seal the boxes and lost control, the momentum swinging the sharp end into my knee. Which meant I yet again had a life-threatening knee injury. The worst part was thinking about maybe doing it all over again in Oxford. I couldn’t quite picture being there and yet I couldn’t picture being with Dad and Beth in the new flat either. I felt in limbo, unable to settle even in my own mind, so I played music incredibly loud while I worked to try to drown out my inner voice.

Packing up the whole house was eating into my falling in love montage time and that was unforgivable. Ruby and I had taken a walk on the beach the morning after the drive-in and I was confident we had moved past the non-fight, but I hadn’t seen her since. She’d gone with Oliver’s family to visit their grandparents for a couple of days; and when she wasn’t out of town, between visiting Mum, packing, and filling in ten more job applications, there hadn’t been time. We’d texted but it wasn’t the same and it was making me antsy.

And yet here I was again, in Dad’s room of all places, folding his shirts into a box.

“Saoirse, if you bleed on that carpet I’m going to have to get it cleaned again before we move out.” Dad loomed over me, which, given that he was only about five foot ten, was quite the feat. He was dressed in his day-off outfit. A long-sleeved, fitted shirt, tweed waistcoat, jeans from the children’s section rolled up at the hem to show off his lace-up brogues with no socks. Honestly.

“Your concern for my well-being is touching, Father.” I hoisted myself up and leaned against the bed. “How can I help you today? Would you like Dobby to press your underpants or shine your shoes?”

“Less cheek would be a great start and then after that if you could let Beth in when the door rings. Make sure you listen out for her over your death music.”

“By death music, you mean Scandinavian folk singers?”