Mum isn’t sitting at the table like I’d expected. In fact, I can’t see her anywhere. Maybe she’s gone out. I help myself to the margherita, piling four slices onto my plate in case someone else tries to eat them.

‘This seat taken?’ Dad drags a chair out and sits down next to me. I realise he’s trying to be playful, and even if it’s the last thing I want right now, I’m happy he’s making an effort.

‘How’s our tree?’ I ask.

This time he avoids my eyes, and I know it’s a bad sign. ‘It’s not gone yet,’ he says, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

Like everything else between Dad and me lately, it’s not really an answer. I concentrate on the pizza because I’m not sure what else I can say.

‘Eucalyptus oil,’ says Mum, walking into the flat and holding up a brown bottle. She doesn’t look like she did earlier. She’s changed clothes and she’s not pale anymore, but looks all business and together.

‘I hope Maggie’s right,’ she says, tipping some oil into a burner I recognise from Maggie’s flat.

‘Maybe you should let Dad light that candle,’ I say between bites of pizza. Both my parents stare at me and I know I’ve crossed the line.

‘Clem!’ barks Dad. ‘That’s not okay.’

He’s right. It’s not, but it still hurts to have him growl at me.

I wait for Mum to say something, too. But she looks at me and laughs like what I’ve just said is hilarious. ‘I think you’re right, Clem.’

This wasn’t the response I was hunting for. Dad looks as confused as I am. I think we’re both waiting for her laughter to stop and for tears to flow. But she calmly walks around the bench and hands Dad the matches and the tealight candle.

‘Peter, you can light it and, Clem, you’re in charge of blowing it out.’

Dad rubs Mum’s arm and she smiles at him like we’re normal. I’m not sure what’s going on, what I’m missing, so I go back to focussing on the pizza and try to forget my parents.

Chapter 10

Everything I own is on the floor: clothes, socks, hair ties. It’s like a giant colourful lucky dip. I did actually spend most of last night labelling all my books and picking an outfit, but it doesn’t look right this morning. I try on t-shirt number four, another of Bridge’s hand-me-downs. I have to jump up and down in front of my waist-high mirror to see what it looks like with my blue shorts. I’ve ripped the oversized bandage off so now my knee just looks covered in crusted gravel rash.