A flight attendant is heading this way, folding up tray tables and opening blinds with the determination of a trained assassin. I raise my voice, but Brian doesn’t hear. The normal thing would be to touch his shoulder, but I don’t want his rugby shirt to speak to me. Maybe I should prod his hand. In the end I pull down his tray table, bashing it against his knees. He jumps awake and grumbles, then stands to let me pass.

I smile a thank-you, then stash my coat and try to make myself as small as possible. Luckily my own clothes tell me nothing. I guess it’s like the way you can’t smell your own scent.

My phone bleeps: a message from Mum asking if I’ve arrived at Dad’s. I text back straight away, then turn my phone to flight mode. My parents have barely spoken since the divorce; as long as I reply, there should be no reason for her to call Dad.

The plane speeds up and I feel myself pushed back into the seat as the ground rumbles beneath me. Suddenly Brian’s elbow nudges mine. An onslaught of facts washes over me – they come so fast and hard I can barely keep up with them. His mother would lock him in a room as a child. Some nights he dreams he’s still there, crying for his mummy. My breath catches. Anger, fear, rejection. They come at me in waves.

I flinch, then rub my head and try to make sense of the jumbled impressions in my brain. His rugby top must be made of polyester. Man-made fibres don’t breathe; they throw things at you like a sobbing toddler too distraught to come up for air.

The world tips away beneath me and my stomach turns. I close my eyes until I feel the plane level off. When I look out of the window there is nothing but pale empty blue. The light bouncing off the wing of the plane is brilliant white – too pure, almost.

I close my eyes and instantly I’m back in hospital: waking up to blackness. Just remembering the feel of the bandages on my face makes me shudder. Maybe it was the shock, but after I came round, I couldn’t stop shivering. Mum draped her jacket around my shoulders and then … even now I can’t explain. Something wrenched apart inside me, as if a gust of wind had banged a door open. I saw myself under the tree, my blonde hair caked with blood, and then I felt a rush of emotion: fear mixed with guilt and love. Feelings that I knew weren’t mine.