Polly and me have decided that we are Christians. Weve chosen Catholics because theres more blood and snacks and its by the newsagents. We went to St Mary is a Virgin church. You have to shake hands with the people near you and say may the force be with you. Then they pass around some free money on a plate. Polly said I will go to hell because I took some (only a quid) and your meant to give some (no one told me). She said I will get hot pokers put up my bum.

We came back to my house where HORRIBLE Mum who I HATE started shouting strait away for NOTHING. She is ALWAYS shouting and grumpy about EVERYTHING specially dropping coats on floors and tidying up. Yesterday I left my lolly wrapper on the chair and she screamed at me PULL YOUR WEIGHT YOU LAZY GIRL CANT YOU SEE IM TRYING TO KEEP TWO HOUSES CLEAN!!! I said get a cleaner and she said you are a spoiled BRAT. I said well whose fault is that and then I turned the other cheek. Daddy who is MUCH nicer said there was no need to be a marter but in a voice so she couldnt hear him. Polly says marter is the Virgin Marys sister.

I will pray for my mum to be nicer. If she is Ive promised God I will be a nun. Polly says nuns have sex with Jesus. I asked how can you have sex with a dead man. She says he comes in the night with a turkey baster. I said thats impossible, why is he cooking turkey before hes even invented Christmas?? I will lock the door anyhow. We went to Pollys house instead. Later Dad helped Ness put up some shelfs from Ikea. He was being all bangy and hammering and making jokes until he banged his thumb and said FUK!! His thumb went red and squashy but he didnt cry at all he carried on making jokes. Not until we got back home then he started moaning like a baby and Mum had to take him to the ER.

The door opens. I look up and see the Squeak holding it open for Dr. R, who is in a brisk and efficient mood today: tight lips, clickety shoes, file under arm. She has attitude, as if last Thursday never happened, as if she had never kissed the rim of my toilet. She attempts to exchange perfunctory pleasantries with me but I don’t indulge. I’m sitting there with Annie’s diary in my hands but she doesn’t ask me about it. She has an agenda. She is focused (after she zips up her bag and puts it down behind her chair, well out of my reach).

‘Do you remember when your hair started falling out?’

Instinctively I pat my tufts. They are very soft and comforting. I shake my head.

‘You know hair can fall out with shock.’