I’m trying to avoid her, hoping she’ll disappear back to bed if I stay in my room long enough. I was sure she’d forget about today. But she clearly hasn’t. ‘Two sugars?’ Mum asks pushing my door open with her elbow and walking in with two cups. ‘Yeah,’ I say and turn away to face the wall. I hear the cup go down on the side table and then the room is flooded with light. I can’t help but groan. ‘You need to get up. We have to be there at 8.30,’ she says, sitting on the edge of my bed. ‘Where?’ ‘Jake,’ she says sharply. Of course I know what today is. And of course she’s cross. I just don’t want to go. I can smell the medical smell she gets when she’s on nights. Even after she showers, she still reeks of hand sanitiser. I give up and roll over. Mum’s staring out, dazed, into the other room. If I’m quiet, she’ll be asleep again soon. I sneak my arm past her and reach for my coffee. ‘Your fingernails are filthy, Jake. Don’t you ever wash?’ She has a point.
