They are acting like they do when I'm home sick from school. Bringing me food in bed. Soup and grapes and the kind of thing you'd give to a sick person. It is a school day, but they never even talked about making me go in. They have brought the little TV in from the lounge and are letting me watch whatever I want. It's so much like being sick that sometimes I feel sick. I feel lik I'm coming back from a really bad cold.

Donald came to get me. Tired and unshaved and red-eyed. Turned up in his big neat car after hours and hours sitting in a little room with a policewoman who made a little plastic cup of tea with cold water in and every so often said things like, So what's your favourite thing to study at school?, and What are your hobbies then?

There were hours after that. Of them talking. About me. Talking like I couldn't hear them. Like I spoke a different language and I'd never understand. The policewoman kept telling me that Mum was fine. She was in hospital. But she was fine. And I never said anything. Even when we got into Donald's car and we drove all the way back for ages. So long that it felt like we weren't going anywhere, just round and round on huge empty roads. I didn't speak even when we stopped at service stations and he held my hand like a little kid everywhere we went. Even when we got back and there were more police at the house waiting, different ones but the same.

I don't know what's going to happen next. Mum is probably going to go to jail. Maybe I am as well. Maybe I won't stay with Maisie and Donald anymore. They'll make me move again. Somewhere worse for sure. And I won't see Mum again when it comes time next month. We've done it now. We've really broken things. But I still don't feel bad or scared.