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But Lizzie felt she’d missed her point about the Inner You.
    ‘And you’ve thought about music,’ said Dr Howe.
    Her mum didn’t reply and he stared hard at her, making Lizzie’s heart beat a fraction faster, nervous in case he decided to say something sarcastic about the importance of paying attention, which he did all the time in assembly.
    ‘Why don’t we let Mrs Goldman handle it? I know she’s prepared something.’
    No reply.
    Anxiety spiked again and Lizzie stood to go to her mother’s side, but as she did her mum suddenly jammed the biro into the paper and turned her doodling face down.
    ‘I think we’re done, Stephen,’ she said.
    Lizzie looked nervously from her mum to Dr Howe and back again.
    ‘Ah. I see. Well . . .’ Dr Howe looked down at his red file, flicked forward a couple of pages, and then shut it.
    Lizzie caught sight of her sister’s name in bold black capitals across the front of it.
    ANNA .
    She still loved the look and sound of it. She always had. It was fabulous, simple and feminine, and . . . a palindrome! Anna had teased her and called her a geek when she pointed this out.
    ‘It’s not just that it’s a palindrome,’ she’d said to her sister, smarting a little. ‘Elizabeth is so blinking dull. Just queens and stamps and some fancy cruise ship. Anna is romantic. Anna floats. Anna twirls. Anna gets kissed by Prince Charmings. Elizabeth chops people’s heads off and pays for postage.’
    ‘I don’t float and twirl!’
    ‘You get kissed by Prince Charmings.’
    Anna smiled at her. ‘Most of those need their heads chopping off.’
    Then they laughed.
    Lizzie missed her terribly, and seeing her name on Dr Howe’s folder, yet another black reminder, was a punch in the stomach.
    ‘Yes,’ Dr Howe said, roughly interrupting Lizzie’s sadness. ‘I think we can leave it there. If there’s anything else,’ he continued. ‘I’ll telephone.’
    Her mum nodded and then, without even a mumbled goodbye, she walked out of the room, leaving Lizzie and Dr Howe in an awkward, sticky silence.
    ‘Um . . . she’s . . . um . . . pretty tired,’ Lizzie mumbled. ‘You know . . . not been sleeping well . . .’
    She turned towards the front door, praying he wouldn’t try and talk to her. They almost made it, but then she heard him clear his throat to speak. Her stomach clenched.
    ‘So, Lizzie, tell me,’ he said, sounding a lot like the kind but useless bereavement lady she was sent to after Anna fell. ‘How are you feeling about Tuesday?’
    Lizzie reached to open the latch. ‘Er . . . fine,’ she mumbled.
    This seemed to be the wrong answer, as he didn’t smile but gave her one of those teachery looks that said there was a far better answer floating about in the ether somewhere. Lizzie stared at the empty patch of space above his head and searched for it.
    ‘I mean, well, I’m sure it’ll be hard.’
    She shot him a look to see if this was closer to what he’d wanted. It appeared so. His frown softened, and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile.
    ‘Yes, it will be hard. But, I think, once it’s over we’ll all feel so much . . . better.’
    Then he nodded.
    Lizzie nodded too, even though she knew full well that planting an apple tree for the home economics group and singing some songs chosen by her unstable music teacher wouldn’t make losing Anna any better at all.
    They stood in silence for a moment or two. He stared at her so hard she felt as if she were standing on a metal sheet heated up as hot as it could go. She avoided his eyes and shifted her weight from foot to foot like one of those dancing desert lizards.
    ‘You know you can always talk to me if you need to,’ he said. ‘My door at school is always open.’
    Lizzie breathed a massive sigh when she was finally able to close the door behind him. She wandered back to the living room and sat in the armchair to pick her knee and wait for her mum to come back down.
    With the scab finally gone, flicked in