I don’t turn around. What’s the point? It’s the same speech as yesterday, as every day. At least she’s not slurring. She barely bothers to try then. Instead I pretend I’m wringing Ma’s neck as I squeeze Kayleigh’s tiny leggings out under the tap, kicking her bloated nappy over to the wall. She hoots as I flick water into her face, clapping her hands, tummy wobbling as she laughs. It’s so swollen I can tell myself she’s eating right, even though I know it’s because she’s not. And the tinkle of her giggles and rushing water makes it easier to forget I am washing my angel baby sister, again, from an outside tap on the pavement. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t for me, least I don’t think it was. Why should it be for her?

‘I did give her some lunch. Or was it breakfast? I gave her … What did I give her? Now, I know I’ve got some beans in. She loves beans…’

I roll my eyes, tucking Kayleigh inside my jacket as we sit, damp, on the step. I wish the clouds would part for just a moment and let the sun dry her instead of my shitty school blazer. This is a blazer that’s dried a thousand other wet and screaming kids already.

‘Yes, I gave her cereal. That’s it. So she’s had some milk at least … Now, let me see…’

There she goes again, trying and failing to get up. I listen to Kayleigh suck her thumb instead, moving her body into the watery sunshine lighting the puddle around us. Her eyelashes flutter on her cheek as she spreads her toes into the breeze. I rest my chin on her head, wondering if Ma ever did this for me, once upon a time. Before she started doing anything for any scrounger that told her she had a nice smile. 18

‘OK my angel,’ I murmur as the clouds roll across the sun. ‘Let’s get you some beans.’ A whistle screeches through the air as I stand, a construction truck rattling suddenly past. I close the door on a volley of catcalls. No need to try and work it when Rach isn’t around to check.

‘Where are these beans, Ma?’ I spy an open packet of nappies by Kayleigh’s cot. Thank God it’s not a rinse-and-repeat day. She’d be like a lump of plasticine if she was fed right, round marble eyes staring as I change her. The telly’s bright colours take over the entertaining as I suddenly remember my own shirt is still full of wee.