Tina stood in the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror above the basin. She looked old and haggard with dark circles under her eyes. All this drama was doing her no good at all. She opened her makeup bag and pulled out a few things to try and make herself look half decent. Her skin was red and blotchy and her hair was limp, no real style to it anymore. She’d been drinking last night – more than usual – the hangover wasn’t helping. It must have been a bad night because she’d necked a half bottle of brandy. Nobody at home knew she was drinking; she hid it away from them all, but she was worried the word was out at school.

Chris came in and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulder.

‘Good morning, my love, how did you sleep? It felt like you were restless all night – kept me awake. Are you OK?’

This was the time to open up to him, to put her cards on the table instead of pretending everything was hunky-dory. Why did she keep pretending she was coping? Surely if he knew, he could help? Tina carried on applying her makeup trying to find the words. But then a wave of defeat hit her. Telling him wouldn’t change the facts.

‘I’ve got stuff on my mind. You know I’m always the same when things are bothering me.’

Chris edged her to the right and started to brush his teeth. ‘Nevaya has said sorry so what’s there to worry about? It’s all fine now. Don’t kick the arse out of it, love, it’s over now, move on.’

Tina walked over towards the door. ‘It might be fine in your world, Chris, but it’s crap in mine. So don’t paint it as perfect, when it’s far from over.’

Chris sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t face another argument, he just wanted a bit of peace. And it would all blow over given time.

Tina headed to the bedroom and started to get dressed. When she was done she walked over to her wardrobe and knelt down beside it. Her hand rummaged through the stacks of shoes and boots and bags until she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out, checking behind her to make sure nobody was about. She pressed the lip of the cold glass bottle to her lips and gulped. The brandy steadied her nerves, sent a flood of warmth through her when everything else was cold.

A noise behind her. Somebody was coming. She panicked and wiped her mouth with her hand, then chucked the bottle back into the cupboard. This was her secret, and nobody could ever know. She only drank to take the edge off things, anyway. A few sips here and there, and it wasn’t every day. Where was the harm?