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PROLOGUE
September
There’s one minute to the buzzer. My heart is pounding as I race from one end of the school gym to the other, dribbling the ball as I weave in and out through a swarm of sweaty bodies.
‘Kayla. Kayla. Kayla,’ students, teachers and parents chant from the sideline. The gym is packed to capacity and all eyes are on me.
‘If you score this basket we win,’ Aiden, my best friend, shouts as he guards me against a really tall player on the other team.
I glance at the scoreboard. Thirty seconds to go. Beads of perspiration trickle from my hairline and into my eyes. I drag a shaky arm across my forehead, stop running and steady myself in front of the basket.
‘Kayla. Kayla. Kayla,’ the cheering is ringing in my ears.
‘Shoot, Kayla. Shoot!’ Aiden shouts.
With my feet slightly apart, I focus on the hoop. I bend my knees, throw the ball and a loud scream bursts through my lips.
The gym erupts with cheering and clapping and my team are running towards me, crowding around me as I sink to the floor, unable to believe what just happened.
‘You did it, Kayla. We won,’ Aiden says, wriggling his way through the group of our teammates gathered around me. ‘What are you doingdown there?’ he asks, clearly surprised as he finds me sitting, rocking on the floor. ‘Can you believe it? We’re through to the finals. It’s the first time our school has made it in twenty years.’
‘Where’s my mam?’ I ask, choking back tears.
Aiden glances over his shoulder, still smiling. ‘She’s coming but it could take her a while to get through the crowd. Everyone is going crazy!’
The excitement is electric; stomping feet, clapping hands, laughter and cheering. But all I can think about is the throbbing pain in my knee. Something is wrong! Something is so wrong with my knee. Aiden reaches his hand out to me and pulls me to my feet. I want to scream again, but I press my top teeth down onto my bottom lip and hold the noise inside.
‘You okay?’ he asks, his smile faltering. ‘Blown away by your own greatness? It almost looks as if you’re crying.’
‘I want my mam,’ I say. ‘I just want my mam.’
Finally, Mam gets close enough so my eyes can meet hers and as soon as she sees me her expression changes. She knows I’m not crying happy tears. She knows I’m hurt.
I just want my mam.
ONE
HEATHER
One week later
I stand outside my daughter’s bedroom door and hold my breath. My feet are slightly apart – my knees wobble less this way and my arms are folded across my chest as if I’m cross. I’m not cross. Kayla never gives me reason to be cross. She’s not a stereotypical teenager. But I guess I’m not a stereotypical mother either. Sure, Kayla and I are mother and daughter, but mostly we are best friends. I won’t say we never argue. We’re human – not perfect. But when we do disagree it’s almost always over something silly, like who ate the last slice of pizza or whether Ross really is good for Rachel as we stay up too late watchingFriendsreruns together. And we never, ever keep secrets from each other. Until now. Kayla has been keeping a huge secret from me. My heart hurts when I think about how different everything might be right now if she had just told me she was feeling unwell sooner.
I exhale, making myself light-headed, and raise my hand to knock. But I pause as giggling carries through the gap of the slightly ajar door. I recognise the familiar sounds of Kayla video chatting with her best friend. I smile and shake my head. I often wonder how they can spendall day in school together and come home to spend half the evening chatting more.
‘They didn’t have Snapchat back in your day, Mam,’ Kayla likes to remind me, regularly. ‘This is how people talk to each other now. It’s just normal.’
Normal, I think. Unsteady again. Suddenly normal feels like a privilege we’ve taken for granted.
As the carefree, childhood laughter grows louder and giddier I can’t bring myself to disturb Kayla. Not right now. I need to keep normal for just a little while longer.
‘I can’t go to the funfair this year,’ I hear Kayla say. ‘My mam is in a bad mood. I think she’s heard something dodgy from someone else’s mam or something.’
‘Like what?’ Aiden’s husky voice says as clear as if he’s in the room with my daughter.
‘Dunno,’ Kayla says. ‘Maybe something about kids getting drunk. Half our year were pissed off their heads last year, remember?’
‘Ha, yeah,’ Aiden laughs. ‘The state of some of them; Roisin Kelly threw up in a bush. It was the funniest thing ever, remember?’
