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you?’
    She slumps a little as if the question is a huge weight driving her into the ground.
    After a moment …
    â€˜Not last night. I didn’t love him then.’
    Mum should be a politician. So good at dodging questions.
    â€˜I’m not just talking about last night,’ I persist. ‘You can be mad at someone when they’re an idiot. You can even hate them for a while. But it doesn’t stay like that. If you really love them, you still love them. You know what I mean?’
    â€˜Yes, I understand.’
    â€˜So … do you love him, Mum?’
    There’s a long pause when there shouldn’t be and suddenly I know her answer without her saying it. A teargives it away.
    She moves closer and then her head’s on my shoulder. I feel angry, disappointed, betrayed. Maybe angry tops the list. I don’t understand how you can switch love off. I’m sure I never will. But my mum’s hurting and I can’t help but put my arms around her.
    For about half a minute she stays next to me and there’s no armour between us, no need for us to say anything.
    Just as quickly the spell is broken.
    â€˜Time to go. We’ll both be late if we’re not careful.’
    She pecks me on the forehead and then, seeing the damage, uses a handkerchief to wipe away the lipstick.
    â€˜I’ll ring Dad today,’ I say. ‘I have to.’
    â€˜Of course.’
    She smiles – not one of those brand new the world is wonderful jobs – a second-hand, battle-scarred smile.
    â€˜That’s a good idea. Ring him. He’d like that … now, shall I drop you at school or would you rather walk?’
    Don’t come anywhere near my school – puleeze!
    â€˜Here is good, thanks, Mum.’
    As I get out of the car she touches my arm and I turn around and look at her.
    â€˜You didn’t want me to lie, did you, David?’
    â€˜No,’ I say. But I wish she had.

‘Chop. Chop. No more dallying. Hurry along now.’ Miss Boyle claps her hands. ‘Let’s get this rehearsal underway. Cyrano is waiting.’
    If she were an animal Miss Boyle would be a rhinoceros; head down and barging. She’s all bustle and business-like and her skin is so thick bullets fall away from it like snowflakes, or so she’d like you to believe. Now she glances around the room, mentally taking the roll. My friends and I have been here for twenty minutes. Present and accounted for.
    â€˜Mr Pringle?’ Miss Boyle’s voice lifts to the ceiling. Her eyebrows aren’t far behind. ‘Not here? Again? That lad is testing my patience.’
    Lanny is usually late for rehearsals. He has a job after school at the supermarket – filling shelves – and can’talways get away on time. Or so he says. I think he’s just slack. Miss Boyle isn’t working with us on the lighting and sound yet, so Lanny’s friend David doesn’t have to be here. But he is. Hardly ever misses. Today, after saying hi to everyone and helping move chairs around, he sits quietly at the back of the hall. I wonder about him; what he thinks and feels. When he’s with Lanny he melts into the background. But when he’s on his own like he is now, there’s a darkness that’s wrapped around him, some kind of sadness. I sense it, see it fleetingly in his eyes.
    â€˜Do you think one of us should go and talk to him?’ I keep my voice low. ‘Just to be friendly.’
    Megan grins. ‘How friendly do you want to be?’
    â€˜It’s nothing like that.’ I frown. ‘I’m only trying to be nice.’
    â€˜I agree with you.’ Glenna has a quick peek over her shoulder at David. ‘He might feel a bit outnumbered with no other boys here. Why don’t you go and talk to him, Caitlin.’
    â€˜Me?’
    â€˜Oh, come on.’ Megan does the scoffing tone better than anyone. ‘You know you want to. Admit it.’
    I