The bathroom was occupied. Rose could hear her brother Marty singing above the noise of the shower.
“Are you going to be long?” She rapped on the door.
“What?” He carried on singing – or screeching may have been the correct verb.
“Don’t be long!” she shouted. Rose went into her bedroom and flopped on the bed. It was soft and comfortable and smelt fresh like an ocean breeze. She plumped up the pillows and sank back to stare up at the lemon-coloured ceiling, where shadows danced and the light off her lamp created a soft silhouette. She wiggled her toes and emitted a sleepy sigh. If she didn’t have choir practise, she could curl under the duvet with her latest novel and a bumper bar of chocolate, put on her pyjamas and her fleece bed socks and relax. The thought of power napping
