A loud bang at the door makes me jump. Two more ravel dread around fear like an unwanted gift and force it deep into the pit of my stomach.

‘What are you doing in there, Oliver?’

Dad’s voice is booming. I feel it in my chest, like a phone’s ringing inside.

‘Nothing,’ I say, cradling the shards in my bleeding hands, straining to not let my voice quiver.

His knock made me grip. The glass sticks out of my palm like the spines on the back of a stegosaurus. It was my favourite dinosaur. Not anymore.

‘It doesn’t sound like nothing. Unlock the door, now.’

‘Okay. Coming.’

I pull two of the three pieces from my palm with a wince and gritted teeth. The third is curved; the base of mum’s vase...

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