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with its very own walk-in shower, an office for Sharon, a playroom for Harriet (even though she also got her own bedroom too), a cinema room, two dining rooms, three living rooms and enough money left over to install some of those fancy bisexual, bi-folding stupid doors for your massive kitchen. But, once again, no bedroom for us. We have to make do with the stupid sofa bed in Sharon’s office if we want to stay. Don’t wanna stay at your stupid house anyway. It stinks of bullshit.
    Arrggghh now I’m too angry to revise. Only one thing for it…
    LIZZIE
    I’m so tired tonight; I really could have done without Cassie’s attitude. Asking her to kindly remove all her books from the kitchen table was not without the usual drama. For one delicious moment I did consider asking Andy to bring Terry the snake round to give Cassie a hug.
    I tried to explain to Cassie that her idea of a carpet picnic was not really good etiquette for our dinner guests, even though it did work quite well for Richard Gere and Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. She then asked what the hell petticoats had to do with anything and proceeded to storm upstairs, which she had to do three times in total, as she couldn’t carry all her books at once.
    I’d almost forgotten what the table looked like, so voluminous and spread out were her remnants of revision. Heavy text books sat amongst dog eared copies of Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
, George Orwell’s
Animal Farm
and John Steinbeck’s
Of Mice and Men,
as well as numerous past papers of various subjects which lay scattered amongst page after page of intense handwritten notepaper. Boredom and indifference were clearly evident as scribbling’s such as Shakespeare stinks, Chelsea is a bitch and I love Joe were threaded throughout correct and legitimately attempted answers. Heart topped letter I’s and the black and white keys of a piano were also generously dispersed throughout. One particular question caught my eye, ‘describe in detail what hard water is,’ and scrawled underneath the words,
ice you idiots
, made me smile.
    Why Cassie chose to sit in the kitchen and revise I’m still none the wiser. Personally I think it was to persecute everyone else in the house. If she was miserable then goddamn it, we were going to be too. I caught poor Connor blue from holding his breath the other morning. He was afraid Cassie would hear him breathing and shout at him again.
    Oh god, she’s playing the piano. Simon looks at me and raises his eyes. Clearly something’s rattled her because she’s playing
Rolling in the Deep
by Adele. The performance is faultless but the keys are being hammered senseless.
    Undoubtedly a great tragedy has befallen her that would dwarf even the likes of Shakespeare’s
Macbeth
and Sophocles
Oedipus Rex
. Probably another text war with said friends or someone’s disliked her Facebook profile. Whatever it is the poor piano is being played to within an inch of its life.
    I’m suddenly aware of Maisy at my side. We stand, quietly listening to the dark and dramatic performance unfolding in the living room.
    â€˜She’s actually very good when she’s angry isn’t she?’ I say. Maisy is silent for a moment, listening intently.
    â€˜Yeah, she’s like a tragic enigma.’
    I turn to look at Maisy. Her hair is now as black as the thick make-up around her eyes and her bottom lip is newly pierced with a small silver hoop. She has just spoken three more words to me than she has all week. I seize the opportunity to communicate with my surly step-daughter but she senses it and is heading for the door.
    â€˜Going out,’ she says. ‘Where?’
    â€˜Friends.’
    â€˜Stay safe.’
    â€˜Whatevs. Bye Dad.’ And with an obligatory slam of the front door she is gone.
    Simon, who has just witnessed my attempt to fraternise with the enemy smiles at me. It’s a warm, safe smile without