‘Oh shut up, Mother. You sound like Tony Blair talking about education. It’s a repetitive sound bite that doesn’t work. It’s not communication or honesty. It’s lying and destructive.’

My stomach knots. Miles has never spoken to me like this before. ‘I’m not a liar. How dare you accuse me of that.’

‘Let’s put it this way, you’re not telling the truth.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s the truth as I perceive it.’

He laughs. ‘If you’re wanting a philosophical diatribe about truth and perception, I can give you one, I assure you.’

‘I bet you can. But I won’t listen.’

He clenches his fist. ‘If you try and come between Saffron and me again, I’ll … I’ll …’

‘You’ll what? Kick me out? You can’t. I own a large chunk of this house. It’s my home.’

‘Saffron and I can move to somewhere smaller with you out of our lives.’

‘You wouldn’t be so cruel. You always promised your father you would look after me if I lived longer than him.’

I put my head in my hands and cry. As I cry, I watch his reaction through the tiny gap in between my fingers. His eyes grow softer the harder I weep. He stands up and walks towards me, face riddled with concern. He pats my back.

‘Look, Mother, I’m sure it won’t come to that. But please, please, stop causing trouble. I love Saffron. Nothing you can do will tear us apart.’

Miles leaves my room, closing the door softly behind him. I sit up, dry-eyed, and smile. Nothing? Saffron isn’t looking after you properly. Of course my next plan will work.

79

Hayley

I’m sitting in Jono’s squat, drinking cider, watching him wolf down pie and chips from the takeaway on the corner. It is weird how much he eats and yet he is so thin. His stomach is a bottomless pit. He wipes away the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Did you fall asleep at the opera with that dickhead? I bet it was a real snore.’

I shake my head. ‘I like opera, actually.’

He grimaces. ‘Oh, Little Miss La-Di-Dah.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Snobby. Up yourself.’

‘Do I need to like grunge or death metal to live up to your high musical standards?’ I snort.

He grins. ‘Yes.’

He reaches across to his iPhone and selects a track from his playlist. ‘Break Stuff’ by Limp Bizkit pounds out.

‘Come on, Hayley, dance with me. I’ll show you how to have a good time.’