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living for others; it’s my debt, because there but for the grace of God, eh?”
    “Well, you should be making an effort.”
    “Making the effort?” snarls Laura. She stands with her fists balled, body trembling, voice growing louder by the word.
    “Are you stupid?! Every single one of us lives every second on a knife-edge. Any moment one tiny, seemingly innocuous thing could happen that brings our little story to an end. Bloodily. How the hell am I supposed to ‘make the effort’ knowing that?
    “You might as well give up now, Aunt Linda, because we’re all doomed. All you can do is keep your head down and pray nothing happens to snuff you out in the next thirty seconds.”
    She wants her words to make Aunt Linda reel. She wants to hurt her, to slap those rose-tinted glasses off her aunt’s face. Instead she looks at Laura like she is a silly little girl.
    “You didn’t die that night but you might as well have done,” Aunt Linda says calmly. “You’ve given up on your studies, you’ve given up on your appearance, friends, life. Your parents would be ashamed of you if they could see you now.”
    The words hit so hard that Laura gasps.
    People have tended to tiptoe around her since That Night. It is one of the things that makes her furious, but she realises now that she has also been relying on it. Knowing that no one will tackle her for her bad behaviour because they don’t want to upset her further has been useful, and she has taken full advantage. To say that her parents would be ashamed of her…that’s below the belt. They wouldn’t be. Would they?
    She looks at herself through other people’s eyes. Long, wild hair, no make up, lived-in clothes. Drifting through life without touching anyone or letting anyone touch her, unable to let people get close to her in case something scary happens to them. Shutting her emotions down in order not to deal with the anger and bitterness and guilt that makes her want to smash the world or herself. No, her parents would not be proud of any of that.
    The knowledge makes her long legs go weak and she folds onto the kitchen floor. Looks up at her aunt, but can barely see through the tears that have gathered.
    Aunt Linda sits down beside her, silent.
    “I constantly wonder why I walked away without a scratch, when everyone else was killed. Why me? I don’t deserve to be here,” Laura admits quietly.
    “But you are here. That’s the only fact that matters. You have to find a way of moving on from this.” A heavy sigh. “I know I’m not your mother, and never can replace her, but I do love you, and I am here for you.
    “But you know what else? I can’t do this for you – only you can make the decision to live again rather than merely exist.”
    The clock on the wall ticks off the silent seconds.
    “Would Mum and Dad really be ashamed of me?” Laura finally asks in a small voice.
    Another big, sad sigh. “If you carry on the way you are, yes. You know what your dad was like about wasted potential.” As a teacher it was something he saw a lot of and did his best to stop.
    More silence, broken only by Laura sniffing. The older woman nudges her niece. “You always were a stubborn little thing. Remember how you always had to have the last word in an argument, even with your father. We’d hear you chuntering away to yourself up the stairs, having the last word. Why don’t you put that strength to good use: make up your mind to turn your life around. Please.”
    “I’ll try. I will try.”
    “Would you ever consider talking to a counsellor?”
    Laura feels her face screwing up and quickly tries to smooth it again. “Umm, well, it’s an idea… It’s not very ‘me’ but…”
    “No, you’re right. I knew it before I said it.” Her aunt nods crisply. “But I think you need to get this out of your system once and for all so that you can start putting it behind you. What about writing it down; keeping a diary?”
    “Maybe?” Laura catches the expression