‘I’ve been waiting, so bored and hungry. What’s this?’ She points to the photo pinned to the fridge.

‘It’s my abduction photo.’

She doesn’t get it so I have to explain it to her like she’s a child.

‘It’s so if I get abducted Mum and Dad don’t give the police an awful photo of me that winds up on the news. That one’s a good one.’

Mum keeps taking the picture down and I keep sticking it back up again because I had no idea it would bother her and it’s a genuine superpower being able to irritate her this much. It’s up-to-date, unlike Yin’s photo. It was taken on my birthday earlier this year, and I look hot.

No one seems to be able to tell us if it’s safer to look good and be noticed, or whether it’s better to be forgettable and fly under the radar.

Instead of laughing, which you’d think she’d be generous enough to do, Liv’s face twists into something I’m horrified to see is pity.

‘I should have come much earlier, Tal. I’ve been flat out this week. I’m so sorry.’

I turn my face away, quicksmart. ‘He doesn’t take the pretty ones, don’t you know? So I think I’m going to be safe.’

I don’t count the moment a minute ago when I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to be safe.

‘It’s not about you getting kidnapped. That’s clearly not going to happen, so it’s not what I meant,’ she says.

I pick up the biscuits. The stolen jacket under my school clothes is scratchy. Liv’s duffel bag is on the floor. ‘Are you staying the night?’

‘I thought we could do a movie marathon.’

I’m sensing pity in everything she’s saying and doing now and I won’t have it. I can’t let her crack me open.

‘Well, that’s a shame, Liv, because I’m going out tonight,’ I lie. ‘Dad’s working late and Mum’s at the Parkers’ for book club. So you’ll be hanging out on your own. It’s going to be sad for you.’

I line all the unbroken biscuits from the packet along the bench. ‘Mmmm.’ I pop the first one in my trap, planning to eat them one by one until she leaves me alone.

‘Stay home with me.’

‘No.’

Liv gets down on her hands and knees and clutches my ankles. She looks up with her puppy-dog eyes. I can see she’s got a brand new tattoo on her forearm, shiny and furious-red, plastered with greasy lotion.

‘Pleeeeeaaassse, stay home. Pleeeaaasse.’

I look down at my sister and try to feel nothing. I can feel nothing about most things, but not Liv, unfortunately. A diversion is what’s needed.

‘Is that a hickey?’

I point to the red blotch next to the flower tattooed on her neck.

‘Yes. I have several, if you want to see them.’ Liv lifts her t-shirt. A black sports crop flattens her boobs.

‘You’re such a slut, Liv. Do you even know who gave that to you?’