We’d quickly slipped back into our routine but it was no longer a comfortable existence for me. Even when he was home we rarely spoke. There was stuff we should have probably talked about but we didn’t. Everything that had happened before was a minefield that neither of us knew how to negotiate without someone blowing up and doing further damage so instead we didn’t talk about it.

To be fair he did try to strike up conversations occasionally about his job and football but it’s difficult to chat about stuff you’re not interested in. I tried to talk to him about books but he looked like he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. There was less time for us to speak anyway because he was home even less. He was out for a bit on a Saturday seeing his counsellor and again on a Monday evening at what he called “his group”. We both knew it was Alcoholics Anonymous but I guess he was embarrassed to call it that.

I don’t speak to anyone much at school either. Today I was alone in the school library and Farah walked in. She paused for a second and we both looked at each other. I don’t know if I was meant to say something – maybe apologise again, I don’t know – but she turned around and left. I don’t think she knows I’ve moved back to Compton Mallow but as we’re not talking I can’t tell her. And what would be the point? She’s not going to invite me round for pizza with salad and coleslaw ever again. I saw her talking to Kemp later. I wish I could lip-read. That would be an awesome skill. He seemed happy but she kind of didn’t or I might have imagined that to make myself feel better.

When I came in from school Dad came downstairs and started making coffee. ‘Pizza for tea?’ he asked.

‘Okay.’ This was about the level of our discussions. A thought struck me. ‘We could have coleslaw and salad with it.’

Dad looked up and grinned at me. ‘Coleslaw?’

‘Yeah. I like it. It goes really well with pizza. And we don’t eat enough veg.’ I actually missed the vegetables at Maggie’s. I never thought I would but I do. It’s a bit like I’m craving them.

He was shaking his head. ‘Posh rubbish. You’ll be eating olives and hummus next.’ He laughed at his own joke.

‘Maggie makes her own hummus. It’s dead nice with carrots.’

‘Right.’ He gave me a weird look, like he didn’t know if I was serious or not.

‘Did you know carrots come in different colours other than orange?’ It had blown me away when I’d seen all the different colours Maggie grew.

He blinked a couple of times. ‘What like blue?’