Smell… it’s… don’t think it’s coming from outside. I think… I think it’s up my nose… like… like a Vicks inhaler. Or is it the sea? Scratch on my arm. Ouch. Can’t feel tape on my mouth. But I can’t move it. I…

Ó Maidrín rua, rua, rua, rua…

Someone is singing. Daddy?

Ó Maidrín rua, rua, rua, rua, rua…

Oh red, red, red, red, red fox… Daddy? Is that you? You call me red fox, don’t you, Daddy? I’m your little red fox.

An maidrín rua tá dána.

An maidrín rua ‘na luí sa luachair,

Is barr a dhá chluas in airde.

‘Little Red Fox’! My song!

The little red fox,

The little red fox so bold.

The little red fox lying among the rushes,

And the tops of his two ears sticking up!

Dad? Daddy? Keep singing, Daddy, don’t go… don’t go, Daddy…

D-dum, d-dum. My heart. My pulse. D-dum, d-dum. Mum? Mummy? Auntie Bridge? Emily? Can anyone… can anyone hear?

A piece of paper in my hands…

You are invited to Stella Prince’s 16th Birthday Party.

Neon letters. Old-school font. Where am I? When is this? You’re there. You’re on the sofa watching the news. I’m standing up. I can see the top of your head, your parting white and straight. This is in our flat. I recognise our floorboards, our patterned rug. In my hands, the invitation to Stella Prince’s party. Stella Prince has got 2,000 followers on Instagram and she lives in a massive house in Strawberry Hill.

Mum, oh my God, look at this…

That’s my voice! I’m speaking. I’m saying, Stella’s having a marquee and waiters and a DJ and everything. Can I go? Please, Mum, can I?

I’m stoked because no way would I be friends with Stella Prince normally, because I’m in the year below. But I know her from theatre group. Not gonna lie, I’m well gassed to get the invite, because this is a whole year before I get the main part in Little Red and the Wolf.

I give the invitation to you. You read it fast, muttering the words, and then you say, For her sixteenth? What’s she going to do for her eighteenth, hire a yacht? When I was a kid it was a meal at Pizzaland if you were lucky. Round here’s Crazyland more like.

Yeah, Mum, good one.

So can I go? I chew my cheek. I like the feeling of my teeth cutting through the soft, knobbly bits of flesh. I suppose I must swallow them down. I guess I’m eating myself, if I think about it like that. Gross. Mum? Can I? Can I go? Please, Mum?

You’re looking up at me with that face now. Like I’m driving you nuts but you’re trying to keep it together. When you speak, you do your soft voice, your let’s-be-reasonable voice. That’s enough to drive me batshit, Mummy. It makes me want to scream, because I know you’ve already decided I can’t go, and no matter what I say, you’ve already won.

Sure enough, you say, You’re too young, Rosie. There’ll be drugs, and don’t tell me there won’t be – these posh kids always have drugs because they have the money, don’t they? And next thing we’ll be calling an ambulance.

But, Mum, I’m nearly fifteen!

You’re nearly fifteen – exactly. Which means you’re currently fourteen. You’re not a grown-up, you’re still a child, and while you’re under my roof you’ll live by my rules—

But even Ellie Atkins is going! And her mum literally doesn’t let her do anything!

You didn’t let me go, obvs. Everyone else went. I had to see all the photos on Facebook, see them all laughing with their arms round each other, the banter in the comments. I’m never allowed to go to parties. I had to wait till, like, a week after my fifteenth birthday before you even let Auntie Bridge take me to a gig. Not even a gig with my friends, no. I had to go with my auntie, for God’s sake. I mean I know Auntie Bridge is a legend and everything, but she’s still my auntie.

Come on, Toni.

That’s Auntie Bridge’s voice.

What about Frozen? she is saying. We can have a singalong? Pitch Perfect?

Where am I now? When is this? I’m… I’m in the living room in our flat again. Except I’m sitting next to you and I’m in my panda onesie and you’ve got wet hair and you’re in your dressing gown. We’re all cosy. We’re about to watch a movie. We have a good TV because you don’t go out at night. Auntie Bridge is kneeling on the floor in front of the telly, scrolling through the choices.

What about Bridesmaids? I say. Naomi said it’s hilarious.

It’s a 15, you say – so this must be before my birthday. Knowing you, it’s probably the week before. You didn’t let me watch a 15 until the actual day of my birth, probably after 10.13 a.m. because that’s the exact time I was born. I practically needed a birth certificate. So savage.

Auntie Bridge is looking at the TV screen, but I know what she’s thinking; she’s thinking: Who waits till their kids are the actual exact age of the film certificate? But she doesn’t say anything and neither do I because hello? Pointless.

So can I take her to see Honey Lips next month, then, Tones? Auntie Bridge’s scrolling through the films, acting casual. She calls you Tones, which is even more of a cringe than Toni *barfs into sleeve*. Shepherd’s Bush Empire has seating, she is saying. And I’ll only give her a little bit of coke, just a line or two.

You laugh a bit, but then you say, I don’t know, Bridge. These things get so crowded. What if she needs to go to the loo?

Auntie Bridge nods slowly, like someone trying to get a gun off a crazy person. They are crowded, yes. But it’s you that’s scared of crowds, yeah? And I’ll hold her hand if I have to take her to the loo. She winks at me. I’m not wiping your arse though, all right?

I laugh; you sort of laugh, maybe because Auntie Bridge said arse.

You hate crowds. And you hate gigs. You always complain that you can never see anything, or it’s too hot, or it’s all just tuneless noise. Naomi’s mum is the same age as you and she goes to gigs, like, all the time. And clubs, although that’s a bit dodgy to be honest.

OK, so you let me go to the Honey Lips gig, but you hardly ever let me do anything. Can’t you see? Can’t you see, Mummy, you were so worried about drugs and boys and dark nights, it’s like those things made all this noise in your head and it was so loud you couldn’t hear what I was actually saying? It’s like that time you found tobacco in my room. Oh my God, I haven’t even tried weed or anything and everyone else has tried it and some of the guys at theatre have taken MDMA and one of them has tried ket, but you went as mental as if you’d found skunk or something. I can see you, pulling it out of the drawer of my desk and holding it up like evidence.

What the hell is this? You’re shaking the yellow pouch, your eyes so round I can see the whites. You look like a bush baby on speed or something. What the hell do you think you’re playing at?

I’m minding it for a friend. I’m trying not to laugh; you look so stupid with your nose in the Golden Virginia. I didn’t even buy it; Naomi’s brother got it for us from Waitrose near Twickenham station when he bought us some Kopparberg Summer Fruits for a party. Oops, I didn’t tell you I was going to that party. I told you I was staying at Naomi’s.

Soz.

If I smell pot in this, young lady, you say, you’ll be grounded for a year.

You can ground me forever if you want. And I won’t even care because I’m practically a prisoner in this flat anyway.

You come over to me and put your face so close to mine your eyes go all blurry. You almost slap me! I hate you when you’re like that, Mum, you’re soooo savage.

We made up; we always do. I sat on your lap and kissed your cheek.

I’m sorry, no, I’m sorry, I love you, love you more, wrong, I love you more…

But I kept my roll-up stuff hidden after that.

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Like Ollie.