Ollie is mine… my secret. I’m so stoked to have one secret. I’m gassed to have one space without you in it.

I met him on Instagram. He plays in a band. Like Auntie Bridge…

… Mum? Is Auntie Bridge, like, the lead singer?

That’s my voice. When is this? Where am I? This is afterwards. I am probably eleven… ish. We are in your car. I am in the back seat. I’m not allowed in the front.

Not lead, no, love, you say. She plays lead guitar and does backing vocals.

It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to come and see Auntie Bridge play. You are taking me, but I’m not allowed to stay until the end.

Only backing? I’m disappointed. Auntie Bridge is a good singer. She harmonises with songs on the radio, but she also does the descant over random things in the flat: the washing machine, the kettle, the hum of the fridge. Once, when the smoke alarm went off, she did the bass harmony and we all cracked up. There was no fire, obvs.

Do you think they’ll play the O2? I am defo quite young, because that question is so lame.

You laugh. Not the O2, baby, no. Not quite. They play in pubs round here mostly… Richmond, Twickenham, Barnes, Chiswick. But they do OK.

Secret: Auntie Bridge’s band is so not cool.

I feel bad thinking that. I would never say it to Auntie Bridge or anything. She wouldn’t care if I did – well, she might – but I still wouldn’t say it. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, does she, Mum? The Promise is, like, a rock band and I prefer bands like Jungle and Hot Chip. It’s not her main job. She does websites and fixes computers for people, or teaches them how to set up a blog, that kind of thing, and acting-wise sometimes she gets work in plays, but not very often. She’s done a bit of television, and she does voice-overs and what she calls corporate work – which I think is when she teaches straight people to have better, more fun personalities.

Auntie Bridge owns five guitars and she keeps them on these special hooks on the wall in her room. She lives in our flat with us. She moved in… afterwards.

Why am I telling you this? Am I even telling you this?

I am telling me this.

I am keeping me company here under the soup water. Mum? Mummy? If I talk to you, here in my mind, will you hear me?

If you hear me, will I exist?

If I hear you, can I come back?

I want to come back. I’m trying to find my way to you. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. If I wake up, you can tell me what it is. It’s big – I know that. I feel it in my guts, like I’ve eaten something dodgy. Something. I have done… something.

All Auntie Bridge’s tattoos mean something. There is an H on her other wrist, for Helen. She left Helen and moved in with us… afterwards. That’s why she’s serious when she talks about Helen.

Putting two and two together, I suppose Auntie Bridge came to live with us because of the pact – the pact she made with you, Mummy. She came to live with us after the accident, which I don’t remember. I don’t even remember much about moving here, just light coming in through the back door, and boxes in my room, and thinking it was cool having everything on the same floor but weird too at the same time not having to go upstairs to my bedroom. I remember before, when we had Dad, and we lived in the house on the river, and afterwards, now, with Auntie Bridge.

Everything comes around… everything slots into place…

Hel and me were splitting up anyway, Squirt. Don’t think about it.

Auntie Bridge said that, but I think now that she said it so I didn’t feel, like, bad or anything. They are still friends, her and Helen. Why am I telling you this? I’m telling me this. I’m pouring words into myself. I’m making myself exist with words. I’m looking for the something very bad. I’m calling out to you, Mummy.

I’ll keep calling.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

… Alone at the bottom of the sea. A loan at the bottom of the C. C word. C u next Tuesday. #washyourmouthoutwithsoapandwateryounglady…

A funny smell. Like something from chemistry lessons – a reaction in a conical flask held over a Bunsen burner. A dark tin space. It’s noisy when I bang on it with the side of my head. Ow. My hands are tied… it’s dark. It feels like the back of Auntie Bridge’s van. Why am I tied up in Auntie Bridge’s van? That’s impossible. Why would Auntie Bridge tie me up and put me in a van? It’s… it’s… I’m… hello? Hello? Who is that?

Van doors opening. Blinding light… I close my eyes… can’t speak… tape on my mouth… someone rips it off. Ouch. It… it kills…

I can’t tell if I’m crying. I feel like I am. My throat stings like I am. Mum? Mummy?

I know we’ve had our disagreements. I know I’ve pushed you too hard. I can see that now like I couldn’t before. I have grown up, I think. Whatever I’ve done, I hope you know that.

Funny… no, not funny, ironic… ironic how, here in the dark, I can see more clearly.

I can see e.g.:

That I was stupid.

That I was secretive.

That I lied.

But all my friends were allowed to do more stuff than me. It wasn’t fair. I just wanted…

You said you never checked my phone. You said you had a friend at school whose mum read her diary and you didn’t like that – you didn’t think it was right. You lied. You did check my phone. And my computer. Not just on our weekly check-throughs when I am there with you…

We’re close, Mummy. Sometimes you say what I’m thinking before I even know myself. When I was sick, you knew it was nerves before I did. But that’s not from checking. That’s because we’re close. I pushed us apart.

Hear my mind now, Mum. Hear this: if I make it from the bottom, if I find my way back to you, I’ll always let you know where I am and who I’m with and what I’m doing. What I’m saying is: I get it. I proper get it. I promise.

I’m sorry.