While I walk up the lane, no traffic passes by. ‘Hey, Cat,’ I say to the cat that often sits waiting for me. A motionless sentry perched on the wall at the side of the road, his yellow eyes are unblinking, his black head battle-scarred. I know that his presence is an honour, rather than a given. A cat belongs to no-one but himself.

By the time I turn into our drive, he’s already vanished. Gravel crunches under my feet as I walk towards the house, its grey, stark façade softened in spring by lilac wisteria.

I walk around the side to the back door, where music from the radio drifts outside. As I go into the kitchen, I find my mother wearing jeans and a wide-necked sweater that slides off one of her tanned shoulders.

‘I need some money for the science trip,’ I tell her, putting down my school bag and getting juice from the fridge before going to the larder for a bag of crisps. Opening it, I take a handful, watching her leaf through today’s mail. Her hand pauses on a letter, her intake of breath audible, coupled with the perceptible paling of her skin.

‘It’ll have to wait, Niamh. I don’t have any cash.’ She adds, ‘Don’t eat all of those.’

Taking another handful, I ignore her. ‘Whatever. You can pay online. Probably easier.’ I shrug as her phone buzzes, her face closing over as she picks it up and glances at the screen.

‘Remind me later, honey. I have to get this.’

Noticing a catch in her voice, I stare at her. ‘Who is it?’

In the time it takes her to respond, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. ‘A friend. No-one you know.’ As she glances in my direction, I notice the semitone rise in sharpness in her voice, the five seconds of fake brightness in her smile. She turns her back and leaves the kitchen, and it’s only when she knows she’s out of earshot that she starts talking.

That’s when I know it’s another of her lies. She’ll tell herself I haven’t noticed anything wrong, then forget all about it. Taking the bag of crisps, I go outside, shaking off my uneasiness as I wander down to the end of the garden where it borders the road, wondering if all families lie to each other.

Pulling myself up onto the same flint wall where the cat was waiting for me just minutes ago, I envy the simplicity of his life; his past forgotten, his future uncontemplated, his only concern the eternal present.

I like to sit here and watch our neighbours, all of them hiding who they really are – just like my father in his doctor’s office, my mother in her airline uniform – putting on the faces they want the world to see when, underneath, they could be someone else entirely.

*