Today, Quinn was waiting on the stairs for his mother to come down and give him his birthday presents. He’d been awake for hours, but he could be patient – eleven year olds were supposed to be patient. He’d got dressed and made himself breakfast – a bagel with peanut butter. At least it was the Christmas holidays, so he wasn’t in any rush to get to school. Quinn looked up at the clock in the hall, ten to ten. Would she be cross if he went to check whether she was awake? He crept up to the third-floor landing.

Her door stood slightly ajar. The curtains were open and light was streaming in. Maybe she was having a bad morning? Sometimes, when she had a bad morning, Quinn had to get a lift to school with William Greenford from four doors up. Sometimes, when she was having a bad day, he had to stay at William Greenford’s house after school, and he didn’t even like William Greenford.

His mother was lying on the bed in her pink silk dressing gown. It lay open with the cord undone. Quinn blushed to see his mother wasn’t wearing nightclothes underneath, just cream-coloured pants. It didn’t look like a sleeping position; her body sprawled like that with her arms up around her head and her face buried between two pillows. Quinn crept backwards out of the room – he didn’t want her to know he’d seen her without clothes on.

Maybe this afternoon she would get up. She would get dressed and come downstairs. She would make herself coffee and then he could unwrap his presents and she could pretend this wasn’t one of her bad days, just a bad morning. Maybe she’d even take him to Primrose Hill with his bike, if she worked up to it this afternoon.

Quinn had asked for the Lego Millennium Falcon for his birthday. If she could just give him his present now, he wouldn’t even mind so much about her having a bad day. She didn’t need to take him anywhere; it wasn’t like he expected a party. If he could just start building the Falcon, he would be happy for hours.

Ten minutes later and there was still no sound from her room.

‘Mummy?’ he said, quietly. ‘Mummy, are you awake?’ he tried again.

‘Not now, Quinn,’ her voice sounded like a dying bird. ‘Today’s not a good day.’

Quinn carefully pulled the door to; it didn’t lie straight on its hinges any more and you had to lift it to make it close. The door had been slammed so many times – maybe the hinges had grown tired, like Mummy.