I’m stuck, half in and half out. My key is peeping at me, daring me to turn and run. But before I can decide, the door opens.

‘Bit hot, Clem?’ Dad ushers me into the cool. ‘Your mum and I have just been looking at some fittings for the new bathroom. I never knew choosing taps could be so tricky. Maybe you could help.’ He says this lightly as he shuts the door and I see Mum curled into the corner of the couch, leaning against my favourite cushion, looking straight at me. I look anywhere but at her, and it’s then that I notice my dad’s hair. It’s usually as wild and difficult as mine, flopping around crazily on his head. But now it’s short, neat and boring.

‘Your hair?’

‘You like?’ Rubbing his head, he grins proudly like he’s gone to war and won. I force a grin in response. All the shadows lining his face have gone. They’ve upped and marched clean away and he looks young again, more like he did before the fire. I know it should make me happy to see him like this, but it doesn’t when I know it’s Mum who is responsible.

Mum.

Dad steers me towards her. His gentle grip on my shoulders makes it all so real. I can smell the chicken roasting in the oven. Usually that would be enough to make me beg for dinner, but tonight I want time to stretch out forever so I don’t have to face my mum.

I haven’t seen her for a few weeks. She’s been on a health retreat up north. She looks healthy and strong; her skin is browner and her arms more muscled, like she’s been doing yoga every day in the sun. She looks like she used to. I glance away because it’s almost too much to take in.

When I turn back I notice that she’s trying to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. I can’t concentrate on her face, so I scan down and notice her bright yellow t-shirt and red shorts, bare feet and apple-green toenails. She’s all rainbow colours, like she thinks somehow that might help. She stands up and starts towards me, but I scratch my neck and take a big step back. She stops. We were at the hugging stage before she went away, but now that doesn’t seem real.

‘Hey, Clem,’ she says in that voice I used to love. She edges forward and, before I know it, her arms are circling me and pulling me in. My throat tightens as my hands work their way around to her back and I breathe in against the warmth of her neck. I’m as still as I can be, forcing the tremor in my legs to settle. She’s back. And maybe it’ll be okay.