He fell onto the bed and curled into a ball. I took one tentative step into his bedroom. I’d never seen Adam like this. He was always glowing in the spotlight. Happy to soak it all up. Not weak…not scared. He was the lucky one out of the two of us, not the broken one.

  “You don’t realize how toxic it is until you get out,” he told his bedroom wall. “You get used to it. We think it’s normal, because it is to us. But then, when you leave… I went to uni and, honestly, Paige, it’s like taking my first breath of fresh air. Then I came home and it’s worse because being away from it makes me realize how bad it is. How bad he is.”

  The fear I felt. He’d broken the code. We didn’t talk bad about Dad. Especially Adam.

  “He’s not awful…” I gasped – worried somehow Dad would hear. “He doesn’t…”

  “What? Hit us?”

  I couldn’t believe he’d said it.

  “But you worry, don’t you? Don’t you worry? I worry all the time about Mum. I make myself sick worrying about Mum.”

  “She…she loves him.”

  “Oh my God, you’re just as bad. It’s because you’ve not left yet. You need to get out, Paige.” He leaped up and grabbed my hands, his eyes wide. “Promise me you’ll get out. Promise?”

  I squeezed his hands back. “What happened, Adam? Downstairs?”

  There had never been mess before. Never been Mum missing before.

  I watched the story play out on his face and my breath hardly made it to my lungs.

  “Did he?” Asking those two words brought so much pain it was like my entire throat had erupted with blades. I danced on a knife’s edge waiting for his reply.

  “No,” Adam replied, after way too long. “He didn’t.”

  “But…”

  “Mum smashed the plate.”

  Relief gushed through me like a surging tide, though this still wasn’t going to be a happy story.

  “I woke to the sounds of them arguing. Dad had walked to the train station but couldn’t get into work because all the trains were cancelled due to signalling problems. He slammed the door so hard when he got back. Then he somehow made it Mum’s fault, like he always does. But he was really yelling at her, Paige. Like, I know he sulks, but I’ve never heard him yell like that before. They must’ve thought I was out…maybe they’re like this when we’re out… Anyway, he was screaming stuff like he ‘never wanted to stay here’ and how she’d ‘forced him’ to live in the ‘countryside’ and that’s why he never gets promoted.” Adam blinked slowly and brought his hands over his cheeks. “Anyway, he stormed out. Slammed the door even harder. The whole house shook. God knows where he’s gone. I was about to go check on Mum when I heard the plate smash. She must’ve thrown it against the wall or something. Then the door slammed and she was gone. I tried calling but she won’t pick up. I’ve waited for hours and she hasn’t come back. I dunno. All I know is none of this is normal, Paige. I can’t stay. It’s too much, I have to go back.”

  “But you leaving will make it worse,” I said.

  I shook my head – still trying to take it in. Dad’s temper had been getting worse the last few months. His silent treatments lasting longer and used as punishments for even smaller infractions. Was it because Adam left? My imagination was already swerving direction – away from Adam’s story to the story of how terrible it was going to be when they came home to find him gone.

  “How can it get worse?”

  “You know if you leave it will. Please… Adam. Stay. You make him happy.”

  I don’t know why I bothered pleading with him. Adam wasn’t Dad, but he wasn’t far off. Adam knew how to look after Adam, and looking after Adam was Adam’s top priority.

  “You can’t put that on me,” he said, right on cue. “Whatever happens, it’s not my fault. You don’t get it, Paige. I can’t stay here. I hate who I am here. In Bristol… God, I feel so light. Do you have any idea what that feels like? I promised myself I wouldn’t get sucked back in when I came home, and I won’t let you make me feel guilty about that.” His face was set like it was carved from ice. He zipped up his rucksack with a loud rip and tossed it over his shoulder, while I stood helpless. “Look, I’m going to try and catch the four-twenty train.” He spoke to the top of my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll message them when I’m on the train with a story. I’ll say I got my essay deadline wrong or something. That I need to get back to the library.”

  “That won’t be enough. They’ll want you to stay and say goodbye.”

  “Well what about what I want, Paige?” he snapped, sounding so much like Dad that I found my body shrivelling up in exactly the same manner. “Look, I have to get my train. My advice? Don’t be here when they get home.” He jumped to set his backpack properly. “Anyway, be safe. I’m off. I’ll see you at Easter, if I can stand to.”

  He winked and saluted. The most inappropriate of goodbyes considering what he was doing to us. I stayed in his room for a while after he’d left, my body held still by invisible forces, thinking of the smashed plate downstairs… Then I stepped out into the quiet of the hallway, ears pricked up for noises of someone coming home.

  I brought up Aunty Polly’s number, pausing before I hit call. I needed an excuse to go round there. An excuse to go round and an excuse to get her to check that Mum was okay without giving away what I knew. But my mind was too thick with the day’s drama to think anything up. My altercation at yearbook felt like it had happened weeks ago.

  My phone buzzed with a message from Elijah.

  Elijah: Would you rather…

  Elijah: A) Have a biography written about you where you had no control over what the writer wrote?

  Elijah: Or B) Have no one write a biography about you at all?

  I couldn’t smile. Even Elijah’s constant need to chat philosophy couldn’t shake me out from my terror.

  Dad was losing control.

  Dad didn’t normally lose control. Did he?

  Paige: C) Write my own autobiography?

  Elijah: Correct! What would the title be?

  Paige: I dunno.

  Elijah: TERRIBLE title.

  Elijah: Mine would be called IF YOU REALLY

  WANT TO HEAR ALL ABOUT IT.

  Paige: Obvious.

  Elijah: But brilliant.

  Elijah: People would either get it straight away or they wouldn’t.

  Elijah: You need to separate the wheat from the chaff, Sifty. The WHEAT from the CHAFF.

  Paige: I don’t know what chaff is, but it sounds like a really yummy carb.

  Elijah: Stop making me laugh so much. It

  intimidates my fragile masculinity.

  Paige: Well maybe work on making it less fragile then?

  At this point, I was lying on the hallway carpet, head sideways, shaking too much for it to be called anything other than “uncontrollable”. I was trying to formulate a message to Polly that would explain everything without explaining anything at all. Trading quips with Elijah, on the other hand, came quickly and easily. It was relaxing to pretend my life wasn’t falling apart. To be the girl I’d been that lunchtime.

  You keep telling their stories for them, Elijah had said.

  I closed my eyes again. Here is how our family’s story usually went. Dad would get upset about something minor and get into a giant sulk and basically ignore us for days. Mum would cry and plead for forgiveness and weep, and now, it seemed, she’d upgraded to throwing plates. Then Dad would forgive her, and he would say sorry too, but, at the same time, he would come up with his own story about how really it wasn’t his fault at all, and how actually his silence was what any reasonable person would do, considering all the things that Mum had done wrong. So Mum would end up apologizing for causing it all and then they’d become The Best Couple Ever, kissing and not being appropriate in front of their children. And I would swallow the story. I would never tell Polly what happened because things were better now, and it all felt pretty good so why rock the boat? So Dad would tell us his story about what happened, and Mum would tell it, and I would tell it, and Adam would tell it. And none of us would tell anyone outside our house anything other than how perfect we all were. Everything would get better until something happened that annoyed Dad again.

  The pressure in the house would keep building, like filling a balloon with too much air, and I always knew it could pop but I really hoped it wouldn’t. And I could keep telling the story and choosing an easy life…except it never worked. He always popped again, because we always somehow messed up again, and again, and again, and on it went, and nothing changed, apart from that Adam had left now, and Mum had started throwing plates all over the kitchen, which implied that telling Dad’s stories was making us steadily worse, rather than better.

  I pulled up Polly’s number again, the thud of betrayal gnawing at my stomach, making me feel beyond ill. I wondered how to phrase it to give enough away to keep Mum safe, but not reveal everything… I felt absolutely sick with fear. For Mum. For myself, if I didn’t get out of this house quickly.

  If you’re not scared, then it’s not courage.

  She picked up on the third ring.

  “Paigey! My darling. How are you? Is everything alright?”

  I took a cartoon gulp and rolled over so I was staring at the hallway ceiling.

  “No,” I said. “Can I come and stay for the night? Mum and Dad have had a bit of a row.”

  I had Neo and Wick on my lap, both purring so aggressively that my whole groin vibrated. It did nothing to combat the blood-curdling anxiety ripping through me. I checked the time again and stroked their furry sleeping bodies, only for them to kick me off. I needed something, anything, to calm me while I waited for Polly’s return.

  She’d picked me up a few hours earlier, face fixed in an unreadable expression. When I opened the door, she’d pulled me into a rough hug, then held me at arm’s length.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. Yes. Thanks for coming.”

  “Have you got your things?”

  “Upstairs.”

  I’d run up to collect my overnight bag, hastily packed after her strict instructions down the phone.

  “Paige, sweetie, I need you to put some things in a bag and come stay with me. Don’t worry, we’ll sort this.”

  She’d taken it so seriously that I was already worrying I’d been overdramatic. Why had I called? It was just a fight. Couples fight. That’s normal. Nothing that bad had happened…though my stomach was telling me otherwise, writhing under my school jumper with fear of what would happen if the front door opened… The threat of danger felt huge, even though Dad had never… When I got to the bottom of the stairs, bag heavy on my back, there was no one there.

  “Polly?”

  I found her in the kitchen, staring at the plate smithereens. She’d told me on the phone not to clear it up.

  “Polly?”

  She jerked but stayed staring at the smashed crockery. I joined her, scared of her silence.

  “Are you sure she was the one who threw the plate?”

  “That’s what Adam said.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “He said Dad stormed out, then it was quiet for a bit, then he heard the plate smash, and then he heard Mum storm out too. I swear it’s not usually…this bad.” I’d only started to tell Polly the truth, by revealing this one indiscretion.

  She brought her twitching fingers through her short hair. “Right…hmm…” A further silence. Then she turned to me, a bright smile on her face. “Let’s get you to mine, shall we? How do you feel about takeaway for dinner?”

  I tried to match her sunny face. “Perfect.”

  Her cats greeted us like dogs, piling into the hallway, rubbing themselves around our legs as we hopped to get out of our winter boots.

  “Tea! Tea?” Polly took us into the conservatory and made me a perfect cuppa. “There you go, my darling. Are you alright to chill for a bit? I need to make a few calls.”

  I took the tea from her. “To who?”

  “I need to chat to your mum. Just to make sure she’s okay…”

  “She’s going to be so angry. Adam…he’s left…now me…”

  “Shh, it’s fine. We’re grown-ups remember? We can sort this out. Don’t worry. Look, I’ve got a new imported issue of The New Yorker. I’ll let you read it before me.” She pulled it out of a pile of magazines on her side table.

  I couldn’t read it. I just flicked through the pages and tried to make out her muffled voice through the walls. When I heard her footsteps, I flicked over a wodge of pages so she’d think I’d been reading.

  “Everything’s going to be alright.” She smiled but I’d known her long enough to know it wasn’t real.

  “Is Mum okay?”

  A lightning flash of pain rippled across Polly’s face. “I’ve spoken to her. She says she’s fine.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Getting her hair done,” she said. “She said she had an evening appointment.” I shook my head. It didn’t surprise me. Though that should be a surprise in itself. “I’m going to go pick her up and take her home. Are you alright staying here for a while?”

  “And Dad?”

  “She said he’s fine too.”

  Polly ran her hands through her hair again, finding it harder and harder to hide the emotions on her face. “I spoke to Adam too. He’s all good. He told me to tell you he’s glad you rang me.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Give me an hour. Then I’ll be back with takeaway.”

  So I let her go and see her sister, worrying so much about what I’d done in telling her about the fight, and what my punishment would be when I got home. My hands started wobbling on my cold cup of tea and I put it down so I didn’t spill it. My phone kept going with oblivious excitable buzzes from Elijah.

  Elijah: We need to sift again.

  Elijah: Like we did last summer…

  Elijah: Gettit?

  Paige: My turn to choose a book?

  Elijah: I have to reluctantly say yes.

  Paige: You so bossy.

  Elijah: I know, it’s awful.

  The cats, sensing my discomfort, both jumped up on me and started bum-barging one another for space on my lap. They rotated, purring, and digging their claws in and out of my school skirt, before both finally settling. It was dark outside – feeling even later than it was. I sat still and stroked them, staring out at the blackness, until I heard the sound of the door being unlocked and Polly arriving on the threshold.

  “I went for Chinese.” She held up two bags like a hunter-gatherer.

  “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

  “You get out the cutlery, I’ll sort the drinks. Meet you at the table in five minutes?”

  I stood, which took some time as both of the cats found this unacceptable. Neo even stayed sitting on my lap as I rose, pretending my lap wasn’t vanishing. I clutched up a handful of cutlery from the drawer and met Polly in the small dining room where she’d put music on and poured herself a large glass of wine, and me a giant glass of Diet Coke. The food’s sweet smell floated up my nostrils.

  “Sit, sit.”

  I felt nervous around her as we shovelled food into our mouths. Both of us overeating and not chewing properly – trying to stuff the chasms in our stomachs with monosodium glutamate. When we’d finished, she pushed her plate away, and sighed. My stomach hardened around my undigested food.

  “That was so disgustingly unhealthy and brilliant.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry I was so quiet. I just needed to eat and emotionally digest.”

  I sipped at my Coke and waited.

  “Thank you, Paige,” she said. “For telling me. I know it must’ve been hard to make that call. You must be feeling very conflicted right now, maybe like you’ve betrayed your parents? But it was really brave of you. In the long run, this is a good thing. Though it may not feel like that now.”

  I gulped another cartoon gulp. “How was Mum?”

  “She was…fine. She said she’s fine. She was worried about Adam leaving and what to tell your father, but she came up with a good lie, and your brother’s agreed to keep to it, to minimize any…damage. By the time I said goodbye, she believed the lie herself… It’s hard, Paige, isn’t it? When she does that? I struggle watching her twist reality to make it work for her… Sorry… I shouldn’t say that. I’m tired. And I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”

  My stomach was too full. Her words took up too much space. This was the first time Polly had ever talked about my parents and their relationship. I felt this weird relief – that my betrayal wasn’t so bad if Polly had already suspected. But also great sadness at the confirmation that things really were wrong in my family.

  “Paige, I’m going to be honest with you,” she said, wiping sheen off her brow. “I feel a bit out of my depth here. I’m trying my best, but this is all very confusing. The main thing is that I want to keep you safe. I think it’s too late for my sister, but hopefully it’s not too late for you…”

  Then, my Aunt Polly, who never lost her composure – not when she got the diagnosis; not when she lost all her hair; not when Dad made his endless digs – put her head down on the table. Sadly, helplessly, into a plate with two remaining noodles stuck to the china. Shock stuck me to my chair before I was able to go and give her a hug. She yanked me into her.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

  I let myself be hugged and wondered how much harder she’d take it if I told her all of it. About how much we pretended. About how scared we all were. About how Dad didn’t need to be violent because we were so scared already. I didn’t dare. This one share already felt like a huge infringement.

  “Sorry, I’m not being a very good grown-up,” she sniffed. “It’s all been a lot for one day. Oh my God, bloody cat! Get down!” Neo had jumped onto the table and stolen the last two noodles. “Get down.”

  Neo looked equally surprised at his own behaviour. He started coughing with his whole back arched, then spat out some cat sick.