I finished the last page of The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks and put the book down. It was one I didn’t want to end. The couple had been through loads to get to the happily ever after. I think I’ve been through quite a bit but there’s no sign of my happy ending.

A clattering sound came from downstairs. I checked the clock. Dad and I had kept our distance since the night of the Xbox murder. My anger had gone but the resentment was strong and stood on firm foundations and was unlikely to fade without some effort on his part. The house was silent again apart from the rumble of my stomach. I went downstairs to get something to eat. I’d finished the Marmite earlier so it would have to be plain toast with a bit of marg.

I found the five-pound note in my pocket that Maggie had returned a few weeks ago. It wasn’t much good to me there. I should have spent it on food but I’d got too caught up in talking to Maggie and then I’d forgotten all about it again. I thought about giving it back to Dad but he’d only spend it on beer or whisky.

Something made me stick my head around the living room door. Dad was lying on the floor. Sometimes I like to lie on the floor; I’m too long for our sofa now. But the way Dad was lying didn’t look like he’d chosen that position. His glass and some beer cans were scattered on the carpet – that must have been the clatter I heard.

‘Dad?’ He didn’t move. I stepped into the room and nudged him with my toe. His leg rocked but he didn’t stir. I walked around the sofa to get a better look. He didn’t look good. ‘Dad!’ I raised my voice and gave him a shake. No response. Shit. Was he unconscious? I knelt down next to him. My stomach tightened as fear gripped it like an icy hand. I couldn’t lose my dad. He was all I had. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him – harder this time. His head bounced off the leg of the table.

‘Bloody hell, Tom!’ Dad was suddenly conscious. His red face scowling as he rubbed the back of his head.

I let his shoulders go and leaned back on my haunches. ‘I thought you’d…’ I drew in a deep breath to steady my shaking limbs. There was something about his expression that made me question what had just happened. ‘Were you faking?’

‘Can’t you take a joke?’ He shuffled himself upright.

What sort of sick person does that? My fear morphed into anger. ‘What’s wrong with you? I thought you were… hurt.’

‘I did hurt myself.’ His voice was slurred. ‘That bloody table is trying to kill me. I twisted my ankle.’