‘I’m okay,’ I tell her and I’m not lying and it’s not the truth either.

No one at school has asked me how I’m doing since it happened. Mum and Dad have, but they don’t count. Maybe no one remembers who I used to be, and I did work hard to make it that way. Junior School is distant enough to seem like a dream.

Liv looks younger close up, all her tattoos and piercings and spikiness blur out at the edges. We’ve got identical eyes, and would have the same colour hair if she didn’t dye hers black.

‘Why do you have to make yourself look so bad, Liv? You could be so pretty.’

A wheezing laugh escapes from her, that turns into a racking cough. ‘Crap. I’ve gotta give up the smokes.’

She flips on her back and thumps herself in the chest, which actually makes it worse. ‘You sound like Mum.’

‘Don’t you dare—’ I start, and bash her with my pillow.

When I wake it takes me a few seconds to remember that I’m on the downstairs couch after Liv hogged my bed and snored too loud.

My book is steepled on my chest and something is scraping at the front door.

I sit up. The lounge is awash with moonlight from the back windows. The lawn is empty, peaceful. It sounds like a possum is trying to get into the house, but possums don’t normally use doors.

I shuffle towards the front of the house and nearly walk into the corner of the hall table. There’s a heavy vase on it that I could smash over someone’s head. A person-shaped blob hovers behind the glass panels on the front door. The security door has been opened. A pink hand slaps against the frosted glass, fingers spread.

I hold my breath and wait. My senses are so alert I could hear a mouse’s footstep. A key scrapes in the lock, the door clicks and swings open. Dad sways on the doormat. He straightens as soon as he sees me, but forgets to stop the screen door banging when he enters. You can tell how messy he is by how far his tie has wandered around his neck.

‘Thought I’d lost my keys.’ He holds them up, then drops them. I can smell the booze vapours from three metres away.

‘Where have you been, Dad?’ He pushes past me. It was only a few days ago that he and Mum had a massive fight about him coming home at all hours, every day of the week. It’s always work, or mates, or work mates.

‘Gary,’ he mumbles.

Figures.

Big Man About Town Gary, Head of the School Board Gary, Golf Gary. Sarah’s dad, Gary.