My sisters swarm into the kitchen seconds after I deliver the devastating line to Mum, loud, energetic and instantly irritating.
We will talk later, Mum says into my head.
That feels like as good a moment as any to leave.
I carry my case upstairs, then go back for my sisters', otherwise they will probably still be there when it is time to go back to school.
There is something quietly grounding about being back in my room, even though it has not felt quite like mine for a while.
After six years at Exton, this place feels like somewhere I pass through rather than somewhere I belong. I have added elements to it that speak for the older version of me. Two photography prints hang on the back wall. My guitar stands in the corner, though I have not played it in almost two years. Navy and gol
