As I turned the corner for home a strange sensation crept over me like a Dementor approaching. Home. It’s a small word but means so much. It used to mean everything. My mother would say it at the end of a day out and it would make me want to cry because I didn’t want the day to end. But I did love my home; I just liked the park better. It was a happy home because it was full of love. I remembered the time I was sick at school and she came to get me. “Let’s get you home,” she’d said. That home was warm, safe and exactly where I wanted to be. What did it mean now? A shabby place where I used to live with a drunk.

When I was faced with my old front door I freaked out. My neck went clammy and my heart was beating like it does when I do running at school. I kept imagining Dad was lying unconscious inside. His face blue, like it was when I found him. My palms were all sweaty and my pulse was racing. It felt like it was all happening again and the fear swamped me. It reminded me of playing a computer game when you know you’re going to die and you can’t stop it – only the sensation was a million times worse. To calm myself down I had to use some of the breathing exercises Maggie had taught me in our mini yoga sessions after school. I took a steadying breath and put the key in the lock. I’d have a quick check and then I’d go. I pushed on the door. It opened a crack. I sniffed the air. It didn’t smell great but I couldn’t smell vomit, so I went in.

‘Dad?’ There was no reply. I stood in the hall and looked around. The kitchen was a mess again. Plates were piled up in the sink and on the table. The cushions were still on the floor where Maggie had left them weeks ago.

There were three empty whisky bottles in the living room but no sign of Dad. I went upstairs. His bedroom door was shut. I got the few things of mine that I wanted and shoved them into my bag. I stopped outside his bedroom door and listened. Nothing. What if he was dead in there? If it happened again? If he choked and I wasn’t there, he’d die. And it would be my fault. I could feel the panic rising again. I rushed to open the bedroom door. ‘Dad!’ I almost fell into the room.

‘Holy crap!’ Dad sat bolt upright. ‘Bloody hell, Tom!’ He looked awful. His hair was a mess; his eyes were dark and sunken against his deathly pale skin.