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Charlie followed her out.

‘Good riddance,’ Mia said.

‘I don’t want her in here again.’ Adam paced the room.

Johnny looked at them, the people who loved Sarah most. They were kidding themselves, he thought. The chances of her making it through were getting slimmer by the hour. But he certainly wasn’t going to say so. Not today anyway. For now, Mia and Adam needed hope. They weren’t ready for the possible awful truth.

16

Izzy kicked Riley in the stomach for the tenth time. She’d been wriggling around all night and muttering in her sleep. Riley had barely slept an hour. She pulled the duvet over Izzy’s shoulders and turned to face the window. Daylight was creeping in around the sides of her window blind. She looked at her phone – five a.m.

She checked her messages. None from Zach. She checked his Instagram page: nothing posted. She checked Facebook: nothing. She then looked up Zoë’s Instagram page. She’d posted a picture of her beside a stupid hurdle in her training shorts with her hair in a high ponytail, looking all sporty and bouncy and irritating. Her post said, ‘Training hard for the finals next week. Zach’s been helping me with my fitness!!!!’

Riley’s stomach fell. Stupid cow with her stupid exclamation marks and innuendoes and … What did it mean? Were they actually together-together? Zach had talked about it like it wasn’t fully on, but it didn’t look like Zoë had got that memo. And why was he helping her with her fitness? Did the exclamation marks mean horizontal jogging? Were they having actual sex? Or was she just trying to make it look like they were? Did she mean they were just, like, doing sit-ups and laps of the track together?

Riley’s head ached. Why are you interested in her, Zach? She’s so pointless. She doesn’t care about anything except lip gloss and fashion and the stupid hurdles.

How dare he tell Riley she cared too much about stuff? How could you not care? How could you sit around whilestudents in America were being shot in school and girls were used as sex slaves and women were paid less than men for the same work and all of the other wrongs in the world? How could you just say, ‘I don’t care about gun control but I really care about buying the new Mac lip gloss’? I mean, it wasn’t as if Riley didn’t care about make-up and stuff. She did. She liked looking good, but in a less obvious way. They weren’t from California: they lived in rainy grey Dublin. Why would she dye her hair blonde, lash on fake tan and wear tiny skirts when the average temperature was about eight degrees?

Riley liked her dark hair and black kohl-rimmed eyes. She liked ripped skinny jeans and long-sleeve T-shirts. She liked her leather cuff and her biker boots. It was cold and she didn’t freeze her arse off every time she left the house.

Zach said he liked the way she looked, but he’d obviously been lying. She should have known. He was too sunny for her. He was an optimist. He always thought good things were going to happen, that the world was full of decent people and all conflicts would be resolved …

But he didn’t feel things the way Riley did. Zach felt things at a surface level, while Riley felt things deep down. But she’d liked his optimism: it was nice to be around someone who thought everything would work out. He had reminded her a little of Sarah, because she was always so positive, too. It had even rubbed off on her a bit – she’d felt less anxious about everything when she was with him. She’d thought they had fun. Clearly, she was wrong. She’d pushed him away by being too serious and not ‘fun’ enough.

How could she be more fun? Life was shit. Her beloved aunt was in a coma and her dad had no job. Riley had heard him on the phone earlier in the week, getting yet another rejection. She’d heard the disappointment in his voice: ‘Oh.I’m sorry to hear that. Well, please keep me in mind if anything comes up. I’ll take anything you have.’ She hated hearing him sound so desperate. He was a good journalist. He was a good man. He shouldn’t have to beg. It wasn’t right. Riley wanted him to be working and happy. She wanted her mum to stop being stressed about money all the time. But right now, most of all, she wanted Sarah to wake up.

She looked at the early daylight around the window blind until her eyes grew drowsy. She didn’t believe in God, but right now she needed to pray. What else could she do? ‘Please, God or Allah or Buddha or whoever is out there,’ she whispered, ‘please make Sarah come out of her coma and make the baby be OK. Don’t take her away. Izzy needs her. It’s not right to take a mum away from a seven-year-old. Please don’t do this. She’s such a great person. We all love her.’

Riley closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She realized she was crying when she felt the damp patch on her pillow.

Izzy jumped up and down on the bed. ‘Wakey wakey, Riley,’ she shouted.

Riley’s eyes were stuck together like concrete. Her head ached. She felt as if she’d been asleep for a minute. It couldn’t be seven already.

Izzy pulled one of her eyelids up. ‘Are you awake? We don’t want to be late for school. Don’t be a lazybones.’

Jesus Christ, Riley wanted to weep. She’d barely slept.

Her dad popped his head around the door. ‘Ah, great, you’re up. And how did you sleep, Izzy, pet?’

‘Good. I love sleeping with Riley. Can I stay again tonight?’

‘I’m sure you can. Now, off you go and brush your teeth and I’ll get the breakfast on. How does sausages and toast sound?’

‘Yes!’ Izzy did a happy dance, then left to brush her teeth.

Johnny sat on the edge of Riley’s bed and pulled the covers back. ‘And how did you sleep, my little pet?’

‘I didn’t. Sleeping with Izzy’s impossible. She kicks and twists and turns and wriggles non-stop.’

‘Ah, well, the poor little thing is worried sick about her mum.’

‘I know.’ Riley’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She thinks she’s asleep, Dad. I was talking to her last night and she genuinely believes that Sarah is just having a rest and that she’s going to wake up on her Communion Day. She really believes it.’

‘Probably for the best. No point upsetting her until we know more.’

‘What’s going on? Did Mum come home? Can’t the doctors tell us anything definite yet?’