‘You do nuffin for me.’ I hated that he got like this when he’d been drinking. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t this bad when he was sober. He wasn’t even that bad on beer but there was something about whisky that brought out the worst in him.

I wasn’t going to argue; it was pointless. ‘Right. Night then.’ He turned his body in an exaggerated movement almost swinging himself off the sofa. It was a good job he didn’t work Mondays – he was going to have an epic hangover tomorrow.

‘Don’t you walk away from me!’ His voice rose quickly. I paused in the doorway and watched him stagger to his feet like an old man. Maggie could move way quicker than him.

‘I’m going to bed and you should too.’ I kept my tone level so I didn’t annoy him further. ‘Night.’

‘No!’ He swung an arm as if trying to punch my words out of the room. Instead his fist made contact with Mum’s photograph and I watched it fall like it was in slow motion. It spun briefly, landed corner down and the glass shattered. Splinters flew across the floor.

‘Dad!’ Something inside me snapped. I shouted at him but there were no actual words. It was a primal cry, like an injured animal, and I wondered that I could make such a noise. I dropped to my knees and carefully picked up the frame. The photograph inside was scratched. A scar across Mum’s face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I yelled but my voice was full of tears.

He reversed away and landed so hard on the sofa it jumped backwards into the wall. ‘You blame me. Don’t you?’ I knew what he meant and he wasn’t talking about the picture frame.

‘It is all your fault!’ I tried to control the sobs but they weren’t mine to own.

‘I’m sorry, Tom.’ His hooded eyes watched me. I took the photograph from the frame and stood up.

I rubbed my eyes with my torn sleeve. ‘I’m going to bed.’

*

I didn’t sleep much. I swung between being furious enough to batter something and crying like some little kid. I cried when Mum died. Not at first. I guess I was in shock. Those first few days I watched a lot of TV. I thought that was good because Mum didn’t let me watch too much TV. I remember Dad crying and wondering why and then it would pop back into my head and I’d remember that Mum had gone.