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new bedroom with Mum shining the torch against the bare wall in front of us. As an only child I was used to having space to myself, but this was amazing. Or maybe it seemed huge because it was completely empty. I began to imagine where my bed would go. I’d definitely like it to face the bay window that looked out on to the front garden.
    My new room had been Alf’s old living room and a marble fireplace still stood against one wall.
    ‘I thought it would be a shame to rip this out. Maybe you could keep it, put candles in it or something,’ said Mum, resting her hand on one of the cream marble corners. ‘It’s obviously as old as the house, but strange … it looks almost new.’ Mum was right. Like everything else in this house the fireplace was covered in dirt and dust from a lifetime of neglect. It was clear that housework had not been one of Alf’s priorities. But this fireplace looked like it had never been used.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep it.’
    I loved my new room. I’d already bought some stuff for it, including a multicoloured plastic chandelier, a zebra-print noticeboard and a black and white framed photo of Bob Dylan. The chandelier lay in the corner, waiting to be installed. And I’d need to get a big wardrobe for all my clothes. I looked around the room trying to decide where that would go … One of my favourite pastimes was rooting through charity shops, so I’d accumulated a lot of stuff over the years. I loved owning stuff that other people didn’t have, instead of just buying everything in the high street. Of course I loved shopping there too – I didn’t say no to any kind of shopping! But I always found such great stuff in unexpected places. My top five finds so far had been a rare Thin Lizzy T-shirt, an old typewriter that someone had painted pink, an 80s tartan miniskirt, a vintage microphone and a gorgeous black lace dress. You had to root
around to find the really good stuff, so I was proud of my unearthed treasures.
    Mum walked around the room, smiling. Unlike me, she was particularly excited about her new life, her fresh start. Dad’s death had been very hard for her. Up until last Christmas all of my dad’s clothes had still hung in his half of the wardrobe, untouched for six years. Then one night Mum bundled them all into black plastic bags. They lay at the foot of her bed for three days before she carried them out to the car and took them to a charity shop on the other side of the city. I was sort of glad to see them go. I knew Mum still loved my dad very much, but I didn’t think it was healthy to be living in a bedroom with all his stuff untouched, as if he was going to walk in and climb into bed any second. He was never going to do that. It was heartbreaking. But it was true.
    ‘Wait till Des sees this!’ said Mum, lifting up the chandelier so that it dangled in front of our faces. ‘He’ll think we’ve gone mad.’
    I ran my fingers across the plastic droplets of the chandelier, collecting grey dust on my fingertip.
    I tried to smile, and then walked back towards the door so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. Excited as I was about the new house, moving on was clearly going to be more painful than I’d anticipated.
    When I woke up the next morning I felt as if I had scalded the inside of my skull. My head throbbed horribly from the moment I opened my eyelids and saw the cream ceiling of the caravan. But I was glad to be awake when being asleep these days meant having to endure the strange nightmare. I scrunched up my eyes and fiercely massaged the bridge of my nose. It felt like a tight rubber band was digging into the sides of my skull and at intervals someone was pulling it back and letting it snap against my temples.
    When I shut my eyes, fragmented scenes from my nightmare would spin about in front of me, my mind twisting in a kaleidoscopic chaos. I would experience the anger and fear of those two men. I would see every single detail. The previous