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am one of ‘us’? ‘Us’ is my dad, my mum and me, it always has been. It always was.
    On Mum goes, and to be honest, I can hardly hear what she is saying because my head is whirling. She squeezes my hand and tries to look jaunty by tousling her pale hair with her other hand. She flashes her eyes at me, and, frankly, looks mad as she announces, ‘And you and I are starting a new life together. It’s going to be so exciting.’
    I can hardly believe any of this stuff. I just want her to be herself again. Mum’s mad eyes are red, her voice is strained and tremulous. A new life with amother as sad and exhausted as mine is right now could not be exciting.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ I can’t look at her and I snatch my hand away when Mum tries to clasp it again in both of hers. ‘I don’t want a new life. My life is exciting enough now.’
    â€˜No, but we’re going to live in London and you’re going to a new school. We’re going to look round it on Thursday, and the term begins next Monday, so we’ve got lots of shopping to do. Aunt Jane’s found us a flat for a while, and we will have such fun together.’
    Mum croaks the last words out in a hideous attempt at cheeriness. If Mum had stood up and announced to me that she was a mermaid, or Medusa, or Lara Croft, I couldn’t have been more shocked than I am now. I push my chair back and stand up.
    â€˜I’m going to watch TV,’ I say without looking at her.
    The children’s channels all have smiling presenters who look like aliens to me, so I settle for horse racing and slump on the sofa fiddling with the volume on the remote control. I know Mum is standing outside the door – I can feel her rather than hear her – but I don’t want her to come in. I wonder why Dad didn’t tell me with her. I hadn’t noticed I was crying, but there is a salt, wet taste in my mouth and my nose is running. I sniff, and I hear Mum draw her breath in sharply in the hall. I wish she would go away. I am too muddled and shocked to deal with her sense of guilt. The only thing I know right now is that I need to tell Nell.
    *
    The next morning, Nell arrives early, or as early as her paper round and the bus timetable allow her to. I hear her pounding up the stairs to my room, and I can picture exactly where she is all the time I hear her until she opens the door, long red hair swinging, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright from being outside. She throws herself on to the bed next to me and through the warm cocoon of my pyjamas I can feel the crisp chill of the morning air still clinging to her as she hugs me.
    â€˜You can’t really be going. She must have been kidding.’
    I sit up, determined to suppress the panic, which comes in waves, and the stab of sadness I feel at seeing Nell lounging on my bed as she has done since we first became friends at primary school.
    â€˜I wish she was kidding. I keep hoping this will all turn out to be one of those nightmares like at the cinema, but so far I haven’t woken up from it. We’re going on Thursday to look at the school, and I start there on Monday. I can’t believe that I’m not coming back with you to Flixby High. I won’t even see anyone there again. I never said goodbye.’
    â€˜Why didn’t they tell you before?’ Nell picks up a nail file and begins sawing away at her chewed thumbnail.
    â€˜I asked them that and they both got upset. Mum said she couldn’t until she knew when her job would start.’
    Talking about last night, which was not like real time but more like in a 3D movie it was so surreal, ismaking me feel a bit more normal. I am relieved that Nell is asking me questions I can answer.
    â€˜She’s going to work for a television news channel and she’s really pleased about it. She said she wasn’t sure if she would get it and she couldn’t talk about it – I don’t