I open the fridge and take out a bottle of orange juice. I flip the lid off and start drinking, knowing that it’s going to annoy her. If there’s one thing my parents agree on it’s no drinking straight from the bottle. I’ve skolled quite a bit before I hear Mum say, ‘That’s enough, Clem.’

I stop drinking and look across the bench at her. I remember Mum’s frown from before she got sick. It’s just a single line between her eyebrows, but it can make her look quite stern. I notice it now, but return to chugging the juice from the bottle. She hasn’t been back long enough to earn any parenting rights. I know I’m being difficult, but part of me wants to start a fight tonight.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ she says, standing up and grabbing her keys. I keep drinking until she’s out the front door. I thought I’d feel better if I made her angry. But I don’t, and I’ve drunk so much juice that my stomach feels hard and burpy.

Last year I loved being in the flat on my own. I’d tune the radio to one of my favourite stations, the ones that make Dad moan and whinge about young people’s music, and I’d sing along. Dad trusted me to be here when he was still at work, and if I got lonely I’d go upstairs and see Maggie.

At least I can sit at my end of the couch when Mum’s not here. I rearrange the cushions the way I like them and try to get comfortable. Except it’s like Mum’s body has remoulded the spot to fit her.

The flat is quiet except for the kitchen tap, which drips every thirty seconds or so. Dad’s tried to fix it. Changed the washer. Even got a handyman to come and take a look at it, but nobody can work out what’s wrong. I don’t know how Dad copes out here at night. The sound would stop me getting to sleep.

I grab my laptop and log into the school’s site to check who is in my class. I scan the list for familiar names. I don’t see any. Just twenty-five kids I’ve never heard of but who probably all know each other and are best friends. It’s going to be like starting at the new primary school. I read down the list of names, trying to guess who might be friends with me if I give them a chance. There are a few that sound hopeful: Meeka. Frances. Courtney.