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Pudding is over and I still haven’t told him the whole truth. By the time it burns out he will know everything about Bells, I vow.
    ‘What does she do? Is she a lap-dancer?’
    ‘Oh, Sam,’ I sigh.
    ‘Don’t tell me … she works for MI5 or something exciting like that? Seriously, why don’t I get Maguire over one night and introduce them?’
    Bill Maguire. Tall, blonde hair the colour of egg yolk with eyebrows and lashes to match. Always wears a leather jacket, a predator when it comes to women and loves to tell dirty jokes. ‘Um, I don’t think so. I mean, Bill’s great, but …’
    ‘She is single, right?’
    I nod. ‘Sam, there’s something I need to tell you about her, though.’ I stare at the candle, watching the flame glow in the dark.
    Sam comes over to me.
    ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her, babe. Stop worrying. You stress too much.’ He kisses my neck before walking in front of me and kneeling down, putting his hands on my knees. I know that look. He’s about to break out into Chris de Burgh’s ‘Lady In Red’ because he knows it makes me laugh. We tease Emma for liking Chris de Burgh, that’s how it started. In fact we have his CD too, but that’s our little secret.
    Sam pulls me to my feet. We love dancing in the kitchen. It’s our time together, Sam and me. He spins me around, singing softly in my ear. We laugh.
    Why does my family have to be different? I curse quietly to myself as Sam holds me. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to say, ‘My sister’s a lawyer’? Or an architect, philosopher, psychologist, artist, writer, charity worker, hairdresser, chef, whatever. Why can’t we be normal, like every other family? Why do I care so much? Surely I should be past this stage? Shouldn’t I be mature enough to tell Sam? Like Emma says, if we are in a serious relationship …
    Finally we stop dancing. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Katie.’ He takes my hand, gently kissing each finger in turn.
    I don’t want to tell him, it doesn’t feel right to say anything now. He will meet Bells tomorrow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

1984
    As I walk across the school playground I can see my mother standing apart from the cluster of parents waiting by the iron gates. Bells is with her in the pushchair. What’s she doing here? A mixture of panic and anger jabs at my chest. Mum never picks me up. Normally I go to Mr Stubbington’s corner shop to buy some sherbet dips and marshmallows and then walk home with Emma, my next-door neighbour. I go round to her house for tea because it’s nicer there. They light the fire and then we toast our marshmallows.
    Mum approaches one of the other mothers and a young girl. She’s wearing her grubby apron with paint and oil stains down the front, her bright red shoes that look more like clogs, her auburn hair still pulled back in one of her cotton headscarves. All the other mothers wear long navy skirts and blouses with pearls, and their hair is curled and sits like perfect nests on top of their heads. Why does my mum have to look so different? Why did she have to bring Bells?
    ‘Katie, what is it?’ Emma asks impatiently. ‘I’m hungry. Come on.’
    ‘Mum’s here, with Bells.’ I pull her back.
    ‘So?’ Emma shrugs.
    I haven’t told anyone in my class about Bells, they wouldn’t understand. Emma is the only one who has seen her from the beginning. Bells’ face looks so strange. They laugh at anything that looks weird. Mrs Higson, one of the mothers who stands at the gate, is so fat that everyone calls her Mrs Treestump-Legs. Has Mum seen me? I dart behind the boys’ outside loo, but can’t stay there for long because it smells. I almost choke. My mother’s voice is louder than any of the other mums, I think crossly. I’m sure she does it on purpose. ‘Go then,’ I tell Emma, waving her away with my hand. ‘Tell Mum I had to stay behind in class … say anything.’
    I can hear people walking off, engines being turned on, prams being pushed, dogs