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can you stop that for a minute and talk to me?”
    Oomph
-thwack.
    I step behind the bag and grab it in both hands to hold it still. Ziggy raises his fist as if he’s going to hit it – or me – anyway, and then lowers it again.
    â€œWhat is there to talk about?” he asks, lifting his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “Mum’s got cancer. She’s having an operation. End of story.”
    This is going to be harder than I thought, but after all my forced conversations with Mum, I’ve picked up a few tips on how to make people talk about stuff they don’t want to.
    â€œWell, how do you feel about it? You seemed pretty upset last night. I mean …” I nod towards his bandaged hand. “It’s better to talk about it than keep your feelings to yourself.”
    Ziggy rolls his eyes. “I’ll tell you how I feel, Fray: I feel like it’s shit luck for Mum, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Now let go of the bag and get out of the way.”
    I do as he says, partly because I suspect he’d get on with his training whether I let go or not. I don’t know what else I’d expected from Ziggy; it’s not as if the two of us make a habit of heart-to-heart chats. But we’re in this together, Zig and me, and right now he’s the only person who might know exactly how I feel.
    When he calls my name as I reach for the doorhandle, I think he must have realised the same thing, but all he says is, “Close the door on your way out.”
    Then the
oomph
-thwacking resumes, and it might be my imagination but it sounds more ferocious than ever.

    â€œDaniel phoned,” calls Mum from the living room as I pass by the open door. “Which reminds me, we haven’t talked about what happened yesterday.” She pats the cushion next to her on the couch. I’m definitely in for a lecture if she thinks I’ll be there long enough to need a seat.
    â€œWe weren’t doing anything wrong,” I say before she can start. “It’s not as if we were torturing puppies or making pipe bombs or something evil.”
    Mum smirks for a millisecond before remembering why she’s called me in here, putting on her stern face. “You still broke the rules of our house, Freia. Dad and I like Daniel very much, but there are certain things that we don’t feel comfortable with, and the two of you being in a bedroom behind a closed door is one of them. If you want to be treated more like an adult, you need to prove that we can trust you to keep your word.
    â€œYou know the consequence we set for breaking that rule is not being allowed to see Daniel for a week. Under the circumstances, I’m not going to enforce it this time, but if it happens again …”
    I nod, relieved and slightly disbelieving at getting off so lightly. Perhaps there’s a part of Mum that still remembers what it’s like to be young and in something-like-love?

    â€œI’m in the middle of something,” says Dan when I call and ask if he feels like going for a ride. (Which is Dan-speak for “I’m playing a video game”.) “But judging by the stench of aftershave wafting from the bathroom, Dr Phil’s getting ready for a date with his new girlfriend. Why don’t you come over?” (Which is Dan-speak for “we’ll have the house to ourselves”.)
    I’d been looking forward to a ride, not least because it would buy me more time to think about how to tell Dan about Mum, but I figure I don’t have to say anything about it straightaway. Anyway, if kissing is as good for the nervous system as Vicky claims, a little Dr Phil-free time with Dan might actually help me to talk about it.
    Dan’s house is something out of an interior decorating magazine. It’s enormous by Parkville standards – twice the size of our terrace – with all-modern furniture in neutral tones that match the walls, and