…I’ve been having a lot of trouble with Dad since Mum died. He has absolutely no idea how to enjoy himself. The only time his face looks interested in where it’s going is while he’s walking across the hall to the wine cask in the kitchen, after changing out of his business suit.

I don’t know what to do with him.

It’s not that I don’t understand how he feels; every morning as I leave for school I automatically stop to see if I have clothes on. It’s as though, without Mum here, all my outside layers are missing and I’m setting out naked. But it’s terrible enough knowing she’ll never be here with me again; I’m not going to let it change my life as well.

So every morning … I jump down the veranda steps, fling my canvas bag over my left shoulder, keep my right hand free for pulling up my socks and I’m on my way.

…But the next afternoon, when he came over, you’ll never guess. He kissed me. Honestly. Moose kissed me.

I’ve no idea how it happened. We were just sitting on the front step and talking about spelling and stuff, and my Dad had forgotten to bring the books home so I still didn’t know anything, when all of a sudden Moose just leaned forward a little bit and I just turned around slightly and he kissed me. On the lips. Not a proper kiss. Like, he didn’t put his tongue in or anything, but much, much better than Nick’s pup’s.