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agenda. He shrugs his shoulders, lifting and holding his hands up in question.
    â€˜Don’t worry about them love,’ he says. ‘Now, do us a favour and pour us both a glass of wine will you while I finish burning this lasagne?’
    I smile at him and make a beeline for the fridge. As I bend to open the door I realise how much my back is aching. Despite what many may think, working in a library can be really heavy work, and I’ve been doing it now for more years than I care to remember. And I’m not getting any younger. Perhaps I should look for a new job, something less physical. What the hell else would I do after all these years though?
    Ruby and Andy are at the door. I ask Cassie to stop playing the piano for a while, just so we can hear ourselves talk. She scowls at me.
    â€˜Do you realise I have a Grade Eight piano exam in two months? You never support me in anything I do.’
    No, I only pay for and drive you to all your lessons, and have done since you were 6 years old. Then there’s all your books and exam fees, but no, I never support you do I?
    â€˜You can practice later,’ I promise. ‘Maybe you can play Cannon in D or Fur Elise? You’re always so happy when you play those two.’
    â€˜Oh. My. God. Oh my actual god, and what, may I ask, is wrong with Adele?’
    â€˜There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Adele. She’s amazing, it’s just you…’
    Cassie cuts me off before I can finish.
    â€˜You know your problem?’ she glares. ‘You’re a bloody Palestine.’
    I’m a what?
    After a few seconds the penny drops and I can’t help laughing.
    â€˜Don’t you mean Philistine?’ Cassie looks at me with disgust, gives her best dramatic pause and haughtily barges past me.
    â€˜Don’t be so bloody condensing,’ she says.
    â€˜Don’t you mean condescending?’ I shout after her.
    â€˜Oh just shut bloody up.’
    CASSIE
    Oh my actual god, how many followers does Chelsea have? It’s like she’s some sort of celebrity. I mean really, what does she have that I don’t? Well besides like being really pretty, having a washboard stomach, junk in her trunk, hair like the shampoo adverts, long toned, tanned legs,
and
big boobs (not that I’ve seen her boobs in real life. All the boys would love it if I had though. All the boys at school love it if girls are lesbians. Chelsea’s not a lesbian though and neither am I – although Chelsea does sing that Katy Perry song a lot. The one about kissing a girl. So … I dunno? Whatevs. She’s clever too and her brother is gorgeous and her parents are still together and they live in a mansion and her Dad drives an Aston Martin.
    OMG she
is
a celebrity.
    She still hasn’t invited me to her party. Not that I care. I’ll just check my Facebook again in case she’s left me a message. I scroll quickly through my phone. Nothing. I don’t care. Oh no, she’s just tweeted. I really can’t be bothered to read it.
    I look at my revision notes. History – another one of Mum’s favourite subjects and sooooooooooo boooooooooooooooooooring. I mean really, what is the point of it. What’s done is done. It’s not like anyone seems to learn anything from it is it? I mean pick a year, any year from now back to pre-historic times when the Romans were around and you can bet somewhere there’s a war going on. Some country thinks they’re better than another one and uses excuses like trying to make them civilised or religious or whatever to make them do what they want. But it’s like, not really about any of that crap is it? It’s usually about taking stuff, like people or money or animals, or gold or oil, or sugar or tea, or coffee or diamonds, or bananas and just, well… stuff. The powerful and the powerless. What’s changed?
    I spread myself across my bed and try to make a start. I will not