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“He’s got a funny way of showing it.”
    â€œIt’s not easy for him. You know what Nana Rutherford’s like.”
    Yeah, yeah! That was always the excuse: Dad’s mum was sour and crotchety. She hadn’t cuddled himwhen he was a baby. So now we all had to suffer.
    â€œJade! Please.” Mum took my hands between hers. When Dad wasn’t there to loom over her, Mum was quite a touchy-feely kind of person. Me and Kirsty had had loads of cuddles, on the quiet. That is, when Dad wasn’t around to cast gloom and despair. Sometimes I used to feel sorry for Mum, being married to such a tyrant. Other times I just felt cross and resentful.
    Right at this moment, I wasn’t quite sure how I felt. Irritated, cos of Mum using emotional blackmail, mixed with guilt at what I was planning to do.
    â€œHe works so hard,” said Mum. “His family means everything to him! He doesn’t enjoy telling you off, it’s just…well! He’s under a lot of pressure, and he worries about you.”
    I muttered that I didn’t know what he had to be worried about, but I let myself be persuaded. For Mum’s sake, really. I am such a soft touch! I went back downstairs with her and found Dad backing the car out, and I took a deep breath and I told him that I was sorry. Even then, I could still have rung Honey and said I’d changed my mind. I might have, too. If Dad had just come half way to meet me! But he didn’t. His face remained set like a stone. Coldly he said, “Don’t you dare to talk to me like that again.” And that was that.
    I went back indoors. Kirsty said, “Oh, you broke out!” I told her to shut up. Mum looked at me, hopefully.
    â€œSo are you going to come with us?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œOh, Jade, do! Auntie Claire will be so disappointed.”
    I snarled, “No!” and tore back upstairs. I waited tillthey had all gone off, till the car was out of sight, then I pulled my rucksack from under the bed and headed for the door.
    And that was when it struck me: it was Sunday! There aren’t any buses on a Sunday. Damn. Damn, damn, damn! Even when you tried to run away from this horrible armpit of a place, you couldn’t do it.
    I refused to be beaten. My mind was made up! One way or another, we were definitely going.
    I marched downstairs and into the garage, where the bikes were kept. Dad had had this idea, when we were younger, that we should all keep fit by cycling. We used to go on these mad family outings, round thecountryside, until one memorable day Dad got into a slanging match with a lorry driver and after that we didn’t do it any more.
    Determinedly, I wheeled a couple of bikes out of the garage and set off up the road to collect Honey. She must have been waiting just inside the front door cos she shot out immediately. The big beam on her face faded when she saw the bikes.
    â€œWhat are they for?”
    â€œIt’s Sunday,” I said. “ No buses. Remember?”
    â€œOh.” Her mouth dropped open.
    â€œDon’t do that,” I said, “it makes you look daft. Here!”
    I pushed one of the bikes at her. She backed away, as if it were some kind of wild animal.
    â€œWe can’t cycle all the way to Birmingham!”
    You had to be very patient with Honey. It was no good getting mad at her, it just slowed her up even more.
    â€œWe’re not cycling to Birmingham,” I said, “we’re going to Market Norton, to get a train.”
    Her eyes went big. “On a Sunday?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes.” Market Norton was where Darcy used to live. I’d been there on a Sunday. I knew that there were trains. “Look, stop wittering,” I said. “You were the one that said to go today. Just get on that bike and let’s get started!”
    As we rode off, I asked Honey where her mum was. “How did you get out without her