CHAPTER 5
The next morning was remarkably normal, Mother up early to bring us a cup of tea in bed, clearly checking my whereabouts. Pete had slept straight through, without nightmares, and I woke as before with an arm across me and dribble down the back of my neck.

CHAPTER 3
Now, there was a bridge to cross. It would be a necessary one, of course, but it was still daunting. So far, apart from the shock tactics on Sharon and Dave, I hadn’t been out anywhere that might hold people who knew me.

CHAPTER 2
Dave was back to bluntness, but necessarily so.

“What exactly is the plan, then? I don’t think clip-clopping into college in those shoes would be quite the right thing.”

CHAPTER 11
Tony finally went home at about two and with a last round of hugs we girls settled down in our respective beds.

CHAPTER 9
I settled into my new life after a while, and with the settlement from the police abuse I was able to afford the deposit on a two-bed flat in Crabble.

CHAPTER 7
Once more, Joe seemed to disappear for a few weeks, and I wasn’t sure I was actually disappointed about that.

CHAPTER 5
Joe was waiting when I came out, and we headed off for the nearest pub, the King’s. Joe was bubbling away with excitement, and I was nearly as bad.

CHAPTER 3
The two girls had indeed brought me out of myself, and shortly before their loss I invited Elaine up for the weekend. Hall allowed guests for short periods, but they had to be vouched for, signed in, meals paid for, body parts accounted for and waivers signed in triplicate in blood.

CHAPTER 2
This is where the Michael Caine moment kicks in, the “My name is…” followed by “not a lot of people know that…” Well, the second part is obviously true, so I should address the first.

VIEWPOINTS EPILOGUE
Thank you for staying with the story of John/Laura and her traumas.

Please be aware that this is not a pleasant episode.

CHAPTER 12
We sat in silence for a few minutes as my mother’s story ran down. I noticed her look at me, really look at me, and there was something else there, something unspoken, and she seemed to shake herself and carry on.

CHAPTER 9
There is a peculiarity that should be obvious with the one-legged: sitting in a chair.

CHAPTER 8
I was losing control quickly. This was not me, this was not good. Too many things coming at me from too many directions. I made a mental note either to use less mascara, or clean myself more rigorously.

CHAPTER 6
We dropped Pete off, slightly squiffy, at the British Legion home who were currently caring for him, and I was talked into a lift back to mine on the basis that my bike currently had no wheels attached. There was silence in the car for a while, until Sharon spoke.

CHAPTER 5
I should have expected it. We dropped everything off, went straight back to college, and by the time I had ridden home my mother had put everything away.

CHAPTER 4
It was a typical evening at my mother’s. She had the Glass Tit on as I read, watching some “Britain’s Got X-Rated Dancing Talent” or something, a style of programme I find profoundly irritating.

CHAPTER 2
Why is it impossible to talk to my mother? I have read all of the literature, all of the academic papers I can find on ideational and interpersonal function, and how to use it. I have looked up the non-verbal aspects, I have even practised them, but it makes no difference. She talks, I sit quietly.