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big iron double bed with a patchwork quilt. There’s a toy box, and a table with pens and paper and paints. There’s a bookshelf with children’s books. I can see a toy garage with loads of cars. A massive doll’s house. A painted rocking horse sits in the middle of the room, and there’s a row of old-fashioned dolls with china faces. I’d have loved this stuff when I was about six.
    Right now, though, I could do with a TV and a laptop.
    She puts my bag on the big bed and says, ‘Will this be all right for you? I’m afraid it’s kitted out for younger children than you, but if you tell me what you’d like, I can get things in for you. And we have lots of books downstairs; you’ll have to have a look tomorrow. Do you like reading?’
    â€˜Um, no. . .’ I say, mainly to kill the conversation stone dead. She’s still smiling, but there’s a little creasebetween her eyes. I feel like I’ve let her down, but I don’t care. Anyway I generally prefer to see the film if there is one.
    â€˜Have a look anyway, you might find something you like,’ she says. ‘The others are all younger than you, that’s why it’s like this.’
    I wonder vaguely about her other grandchildren. They probably read Dickens and Shakespeare all day long. And then it strikes me. These are my cousins. I might even have brothers and sisters. I can’t believe this is happening to me. My head is aching just trying to take in all the possibilities.
    â€˜Have you got everything you need?’ she asks, opening a cupboard and bringing out some big fluffy white towels.
    â€˜Yup.’ Actually I have absolutely zero idea what Doug’s packed in my bag. For all I know, it contains three socks and my mum’s nightie.
    â€˜Sleep well,’ she says, and I can see her thinking about kissing me and deciding not to. Then she leaves me alone. Thank God for that.
    I’m desperate to go and have a shower, but I don’t seem to be able to move. I think I’ll just lie down on the bed to get my strength together. The patchwork quilt is kind of scratchy to lie on, so I push it off and find fantastic smooth white sheets and a soft blanket underneath.I lie there and take deep breaths and think about what I’ve worked out.
    I have grandparents on my dad’s side. I’d never thought about them before, and if I had, I’d have assumed they were dead because they never bothered to see me.
    They’re really rich, but we never had any money to spare. So they never helped us, and nor did my dad.
    My auntie Louise has been secretly in touch with them for years. Why? They know Mum and Gran but I don’t think they’re in contact. Why? Patrick seems to have a really low opinion of my mum. Presumably he thinks she’s a slapper for getting pregnant when she was sixteen and my dad was seventeen.
    This adds to the scraps I know about my dad: he’s a good-looking, arrogant bastard who never did anything for us, and I’m better off without him. Lots of girls liked him. He studied law at Manchester University. He went to St Saviour’s, a Catholic boys’ school which is why my mum sent me there. Oh, and the only thing he ever gave me was a Manchester United scarf. He and Mum had a go at living together but it didn’t work out. And I once thought my mum was hinting that he might have hit her.
    They must know everything about him, including where he is. I could ask them anything about him. He might even be about to turn up here . . . why wouldn’the? But why would he, if he never bothered to see me before?
    My head is full and the brandy is churning around inside me, mixing with the Mars Bar and the M&S biscuits but not in a good way, and I’m incredibly dizzy. And this bed is really comfortable. It’s a blessed relief to fall asleep.
    When I wake up, everything is dark and Alistair is sitting on the end of the bed.

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