Then I swing to desperately wanting to go swimming, to feel the warm water against my skin and the pull of the resistance as I glide over the surface. I know it is the pills dulling the edges of my reality, but I like it this way. No wonder my mother sometimes looks so relaxed she could be vertical, sliding through the house as if on an invisible cloud. That’s what it feels like. But I also know what it’s like when she would come back down to earth, usually with a melodramatic wail or thundering crash, her mood heavy, the cloud underneath her turning to a thunderstorm. That’s when she rants at nothing, closes herself in her room, cries into the pillow. That’s when I have learned to give her space or I’ll feel the sting of her palm against my skin. That’s when Martha leaves a tray of food outside her door, which is still there the next morning.

That isn’t me though. I am in control.

I forget about meeting Tracey and it is only when I get off the bus and come over the rise in the path that I see her sitting on the bench in the distance. Part of me wants to duck into the gate and pretend I didn’t see her. I hesitate. She looks over and sees me, waves. She is huddled into her coat, the wind blasting from across the sea and blowing her hair wildly around her face.

I walk over and sit next to her. We stare out at the sea, which is exceptionally unsettled and angry today. I can sympathise.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I say, the wind taking the words and twisting them inside out. “I’ve been in a bit of a strange mood since my parents left.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, well, that’s understandable, isn’t it? You’re probably missing them like mad.”

I swallow, trying to dislodge the pebble that has settled in my throat. “Yeah, sure.” The wind is making my eyes water. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I swipe at them.

“You know, you can come and stay with us any time while they’re away. My mum would be totally fine with it. I don’t have a huge bedroom or anything, but at least you won’t be on your own.”

“Thanks, I’m fine, really. I’m kind of enjoying having my own space.”

I can feel the wetness on my cheeks and tell myself it’s the sea spray.

I want to tell her the truth – about the letters, my sense of abandonment, the thoughts constantly in the back of my mind about my father’s intentions all those years ago, what he could’ve done to get rid of me, my brain making each of the scenarios bigger and scarier every time I think about it.