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cried Mum, “you are!”

      There was a silence. Long, and awkward. Mum ran a despairing hand through her hair. Mum’s hair is very thick and springy. It was already sticking up from where she’d been sleeping on it. Now she’d made it look like a bird’s nest.

      “I’m really sorry,” I whispered.

      This was turning out even worse than I’d thought. I had never, ever known Mum be at a loss for words before. She was shaking her head, like she had earwigs crawling in her ears. She seemed totally bewildered.

      “Darling,” she said, “what on earth are you talking about? Of course you’re going there! The McBrides always go to Summerfield. It’s all arranged!”

      “Yes,” I said. “I know.”

      “Coop and Charlie couldn’t be happier. They love it!”

      “Yes,” I said. “I know they do.”

      “It’s not like you’ll be on your own. They’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”

      I stared down at the table.

      “And the twins,” said Mum. “They can’t wait to get there!”

      I mumbled again that I was sorry.

      “Is it something someone’s said? Something that’s put you off?”

      I assured her that it wasn’t.

      “So… what is it?” said Mum. “I don’t understand! Why all of a sudden don’t you want to go?”

      “I just don’t!”

      The squeak had turned into a kind of desperate wail. Please don’t keep asking me! Because how could I explain? How could I tell Mum the reason I didn’t want to go to Summerfield was that I needed to be on my own? To be somewhere I could just be me, safely anonymous, without everyone knowing my dad was on the radio and who my brothers and sisters were. I loved my family, I truly did, but sometimes they made me wonder whether I actually really existed or whether I was just this empty space in their midst.

      “Darling?” A new idea had obviously struck Mum. She studied me anxiously. “It’s not because of them, is it? Charlie and Coop? Because they’re both doing so well? It’s not that that’s bothering you? Because it really shouldn’t! I mean, Coop and his music… we can’t any of us compete with Coop. Not even your dad. As for Charlie – well! She’s just being Charlie. Centre of attention. That’s her thing, it’s what she does. Not everyone can be like Charlie. We’re all different! And just as well, if you ask me. The world would be a very boring place if we were all the same, don’t you think?”

      Mum gave me this bright, hopeful smile, like begging me to agree with her. I smiled rather tremulously back, but was saved from having to say anything by the whirlwind arrival of Dad, who came crashing noisily through the door. Dad is quite a large person; he does a lot of crashing.

      Mum said, “Alastair, we need to t—”

      She never got to finish the sentence. With a howl, Dad lunged at the radio.

      “Why isn’t this on? Why aren’t we listening to my highlights?”

      “I was,” said Mum. “Peachy turned it off. We n—”

      But Dad had already switched the radio back on. His rich fruity tones came booming out across the kitchen.

      “Hah!” he said. “I knew they’d play this bit!”

      Mum pulled a face. I sort of sympathised with her. Dad does tend to drown people out. But then Mum does a fair bit of drowning herself.

      “This next guy was a right plonker,” said Dad. “How about mad Monica? Did they play her?”

      “Never mind mad Monica,” said Mum rather grimly. “We have a problem on our hands.”

      “Really?” Dad helped himself to a cup of coffee. “What’s that?”

      “Just Peachy,” said Mum. “She doesn’t want to go to Summerfield.”

      “What?”

      “You heard me,” said Mum. “She doesn’t want to go to—”

      “Oh, for God’s sake,” yelled Dad, “kill that damn radio!”

      For the second time, I leaned across and turned it off.

      “What do you mean, she doesn’t want to go to Summerfield?”

      “What I said. She doesn’t want to go there.”

      If I’d thought Mum’s reaction was bad, Dad’s was a thousand times worse. It was like his mouth opened and a bomb exploded, shooting words all over the kitchen. They bounced off the walls, banged against the windows. Mum waited patiently, drinking her coffee. I sat hunched on my chair, feet on the rung, elbows on table, chin propped in hands, my face covered. You can’t interrupt Dad when he is in full flow; you just have to take shelter until the storm has passed. As soon as it has, Dad becomes calm again. His temper is massive, but it usually dies down as quickly as it flares up.

      Mum said, “Right! Can we talk now?”

      “We’d better,” said Dad.

      “If you’ll just stop moving about and sit yourself down.”

      “I am sitting down,” said Dad. He pulled out a chair. “I’m in a state of shock. What is all this nonsense?”

      Mum said that unfortunately she didn’t think it was nonsense. “I think she’s serious… she doesn’t want to go there.”

      “I got that bit,” said Dad. “What I want to know is why?”

      “I think,” said Mum, “it’s because she feels scared of being overshadowed by Charlie and Coop. What with Charlie hogging all the limelight and Coop being some kind of prodigy – and then, of course, there’s the twins, when they come along. They’re not exactly shrinking violets, bless them!”

      Dad said, “You can say that again.” He gave one of his throaty chuckles. “Talk about a double act!”

      “Exactly,” said Mum. “You can understand if she feels a bit overwhelmed.”

      They were going on about me like I was deaf, or in another room. They did that sometimes. Just stopped noticing that I was there.

      “I don’t think we should push her, if she really doesn’t want to. I would hate her to end up with some kind of complex.”

      “It is the curse of coming from a gifted family,” agreed Dad. “There’s bound to be a bit of…” He waved a hand. “Well! A bit of… you know. Difficulty.”

      “Although she does have her own thing. Just because it’s not showy doesn’t mean it’s not as valid.”

      “All the same.” Dad slurped his coffee. “Hard act to follow.”

      “Very hard,” said Mum.

      “So! What do we do?”

      There was a pause. I waited for Mum to say something but she just sat there, munching her top lip.

      “Well?” Dad was getting worked up again. He slapped his hand on the table. “Say something!”

      Since it seemed that Mum wasn’t going to, I thought that perhaps I should.

      “You could always send me somewhere else,” I said.

      Their heads snapped round, like, Ooh, she’s there! She’s been there all the time!

      “We could.” Mum said it slowly, considering the idea. “But where would we send you?”

      “That,” said Dad, “is the question.”

      Eagerly I leaned forward. I’d been doing a lot of thinking about where I’d like to

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