‘I’m going out to play football,’ I said, getting up so abruptly I almost knocked the chair over.

‘Elliott!’ Mum called as I left the kitchen. ‘Come back here, I want to talk to you!’

Reluctantly, I walked back to the doorway of the kitchen and lingered there. Mum was wringing a tissue in her fingers.

‘I know this is difficult news, but—’

I cut her off midway through her sentence. ‘I don’t care! Can’t you get that through your thick head? I don’t fucking care!’

Mum winced as though I’d hit her, and it felt shamefully good. I stomped off down the hallway, and then slammed the door as hard as I could as I left the house. I could hear her calling me as I stood on the doorstep, breathing hard, while I tried to work out what to do next.

‘Fucking dead wanker,’ I said and kicked a crumpled 7 Up can so hard that it clattered a satisfying distance down the walkway, before coming to rest near the top of the stairs.

Mrs Mack’s door opened, and she peered out at me.

‘What’s all that racket?’ she said, then, ‘Who’s rattled your cage, Elliott?’

‘No one,’ I said sulkily and began to walk down the walkway, away from her.

‘Elliott?’ she called behind me. ‘Do you want to come in for a while? I’ve made some scones.’

I ignored her and went into the stairwell. But out of sight, I stopped and leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the wee smell that seemed to have been absorbed into the walls here. I wanted to tell her to stuff her scones.

I could feel a sort of poisonous anger burning in me. I wanted to cry and that made me want to punch myself in the face. Why would I feel the need to cry about that man who wasn’t even in my life? Who used to beat up my mum? Why was she even upset? I hated her, and I hated him, and I hated everyone.

But I was also hungry. I hadn’t had a chance to get a snack before I’d stormed off. I had no money and nowhere really to go. I found myself turning back and walking towards Mrs Mack’s door before I could talk myself out of it. She’d actually left it on the latch, which half annoyed me further and half made me feel comforted that she knew me so well.

I walked into the flat and she called out from the living room.

‘They’re in the kitchen, still warm. You know where the butter and jam is.’