‘Swears, Chloe!’ Sam is halfway between disapproving and impressed.

My jumper comes off in a huff.

‘Why are you so upset?’ Sam asks, and it’s a good question. My eyes are prickling again. I screw all three nail polish lids on slowly and perfectly until the tears subside.

I will not cry any more because I’m sick of red eyes and having a raw nose because Mum is too tight to buy the good aloe tissues.

‘I’ll give you a foot massage, that always makes you feel better.’

‘You can’t, Sammy, your nails are wet.’

I’m angry, boiling hot, but I don’t know if I even have the right to feel that way, so I am just stuffing the feeling deep down in a very healthy, sustainable way.

‘Watch me do a headstand then, I’ve got much better.’

‘Your nails!’ I say, but Sam doesn’t hear me, or he ignores me, and he has his blue toenails up in the air and his sticky fingers squishing into the carpet before I can stop him.

Dad calls late and I know that Mum must have told him what happened. Sam has emptied himself of every thought he’s ever had and is asleep on the couch.

Dad speaks in a low voice, and I know from the clink and echo that he’s sitting on his porch with a beer, watching fruit bats whirl around overhead.

‘Chloe, I’m so sorry, mate.’

There is a clot in my throat that won’t let me speak. I fiddle with the pens in the mug on my desk.

‘It’s senseless, love. You made a beautiful piece of art that meant something.’

‘But what did it mean?’ I don’t speak loud enough.

‘These people.’ His voice is soaked in disgust. ‘They can stuff their exhibition up their you-know-what, because we’re going to have our own party anyway.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ll organise it with your mother. Wine and cheese and the whole lot. I think I’ve got a beret somewhere.’

‘Do you think you and Mum can get along for one night?’

‘You’d be surprised. Your mum calls me sometimes, when she’s in the mood. She’s not always pissy with me.’

‘Okayyy,’ I say, because it’s weird to think about them talking and not shouting. ‘I’d like that. But no one wears berets anymore. They all wear these fisherman beanies.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Dad, I think you were right all along. I should go back to Morrison. I want to transfer back.’

A pause in which I’m sure he’s knocking back beer.

‘That’s fine if that’s what you want, love. But why don’t you let the dust settle a bit? Do you think you can tough it out a little longer? It’s not worth messing up your exams if you don’t have to.’