‘I know.’ He sighed. So tired. He sounded so tired. ‘I know, Caitie. But being here, right now, isn’t good for you.’

‘I don’t …’ I inhaled. When I exhaled my breath shook and my eyes watered. ‘What will I do?’ My voice was so small. I was so scared. I wanted to beg him to let me stay, to let me work.

‘I don’t know.’ He squeezed my hand. I didn’t want him to let go, but he did, sat up and looked away. ‘Maybe just get some sleep. Maybe that’ll help.’

I emptied my locker. I didn’t have to—Nic said I didn’t have to, specifically told me not to—but there was something in me that was telling me I wouldn’t be back. I threw out the faded sock printed with a green cartoon foot, the crosswords I hadn’t done, the empty cans of deodorant, and the full ones too, with their promises of teenage love and spontaneous ocean swims and afternoons spent rolling in fields of daisies; they all smelled like piss anyway. I shoved the dirty shirts in my bag, the aprons in the laundry bag.

As I pushed them down I felt something in one of the pockets, hard, but broken. I wanted to ignore it, leave it there to disintegrate in the wash, but I couldn’t.

New York. It was worn away now, the picture crumbling off where the cardboard had bent. Soon it would be all gone. Soon it would be over.

I turned it over. Blank. There was a stamp in the corner and I couldn’t remember when I’d put it there—months ago, when I’d thought I was going to send it.

A thought pushed into my belly. Sick.

My mum’s sick.

I’m sick and nobody will help me.

I put the postcard in my bag, hitched it onto my shoulders, and walked out of the staffroom for the last time. As I walked past the kitchen I saw Dex working the pans, arms moving back and forth, head bobbing, like he was dancing, not a care in the world.

I had to be careful.

I just had to be careful. More careful.

Holly caught my eye as I walked through the dining room. ‘See you soon, Cait,’ she said softly. I couldn’t say anything back, just nodded. Nic was behind the bar, head down, making coffee. I wanted to say something to him but I didn’t know what, so I just turned and walked out the door.

It was still light outside, and it hurt my eyes. I was still hungover, still aching from the night before, the week before, the year. My whole life. So tired.

Careful.

I could feel it. All of it. Everything. It hurt to walk, but I did. The wrong way.

Careful. I didn’t even look up as I passed his building.