On Wednesday evening, I work a shift at Wilson's and nothing (not even the stroppy customer that has me remake her drink three times) can spoil my good mood.

For the next three days, Dylan is officially a free man.

I've not had the time to ask him how his Law exam went yet (it was last thing today at school and I had to get to the café straight after) but I'm one hundred percent sure that he's aced it. He always does. He's only got one exam left now, and I only have two, so we're going on a date tomorrow night to celebrate almost making it through our first year of A-levels.

"Somebody seems especially happy today," Ellie comments with a grin.

I cut off mid-hum whilst I wipe down the counter with a cloth and some D-10 spray.

"Do I?" I ask, trying to tone down my smile a few notches as I glance over at her.

She folds her arms and watches me.

"Uh-huh," she replies, her grin growing. "And not just an 'I-get-to-go-home-soon' happiness either. You've got your Dylan face on."

I roll my eyes. "I do not have a Dylan face."

"Oh, you so do," she laughs.

"Do not!"

"Dad, doesn't Jade have a Dylan face?" she calls through to the kitchen, her grin still firmly in place.

"Yeah," Paul calls back.

Traitor.

I shake my head as Ellie laughs again, but I can't hold back my smile.

"Whatever," I mumble.

"So... when's the date?" she asks knowingly.

"Tomorrow night," I reply.

"You guys are too cute," she sighs with a smile. "Where's he taking you?"

"We're going out to dinner and then heading back to his for a movie night."

"Will his parents be in?"

"No, his dad's got some work meal or something. They'll be out most of the night, I think," I reply.

"Ooh," she says suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows at me. "So you guys will be having some alone time then."

"Shut up!" I laugh and shove her arm lightly.

The remaining minutes of my shift tick by slowly, almost as if the clock knows I want time to hurry up so it's started counting in Mississippi's.

At ten to eight we're finally getting ready for the close, cleaning the coffee machine and making sure all the tables are wiped down and ready for tomorrow.

As I'm wiping down the final table, something – or more like someone – catches my attention through the front window.

Lucas Coleman stands across the road – alone, this time – dressed in dark jeans and his face-bashing boots, the hood of his jacket covering his head.

A chill surfs down my spine as I think back to Monday night.

'I know where you work,' he'd said. Is this him proving that?

Ignore him, he's just trying to freak you out... he doesn't need to know that it's working.

Forcing myself to focus back on the task at hand, I look down at the table and turn my back to the window. I purposefully don't look at him as I walk towards the counter, where Ellie stands obliviously collecting the money from the till. I don't look back until I reach her.

He's gone.

He's gone, you're okay, everything's fine.

I leave work before I lose the nerve to step outside, key in hand as I check over my shoulder every five seconds to make sure I'm not being followed. I'm not sure which is moving faster, my feet against the pavement or the heartbeat inside my chest.

I hate this town.

When I get home, I let out a much-needed breath of relief, sinking back against the door as I listen to the sound of the TV drifting through from the living room.

I find Stella in the kitchen, sitting at the table, her laptop open in front of her as she skims through her emails.

"Hey, how was your day?" she asks, her bright smile chasing away the last of my fears. "Your dinner's in the fridge."

"It was good," I reply, moving over to the fridge to grab the leftover chilli. "Tiring. I can't wait to go to bed."

Owen walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass of water, his hair damp, water droplets dripping down onto his blue T-shirt.

"Bathroom's free," he announces, taking a large gulp of water before walking out into the living room to watch TV.

"Could you go and let Bailey know she can have a shower now? She's in her room," Stella asks me, taking the bowl from my hands and popping it in the microwave.

"Sure," I agree, heading back out into the hallway and up the stairs.

I knock on Bailey's door, patiently waiting for her usual response of some form of insult. When I don't get a response I roll my eyes and knock again.

"Bailey, the bathroom's free!" I call out to her.

When there's still no reply I take matters into my own hands, gently pushing the door open to find Bailey sitting on her bed doing what appears to be... homework? She has her earphones placed firmly in her ears, explaining why she didn't hear me.

It's a sight I didn't expect to see, both the homework part and the earphones part. Usually, Bailey prefers to just blast her music out loud.

I move my hand up to knock against the doorframe, a little louder than before. The movement catches her eye and she looks up, her face an instant scowl.

"What do you want?" she asks bluntly, pulling the earphones out.

"Bathroom's free," I inform her, looking down at the sheets of paper in front of her. Since when does she ever do her Science homework?

"Okay, whatever," she mutters, turning her attention back to her work as she starts to put the earphones back in.

"What the hell is your problem?" I can't help but ask, completely fed up with her attitude.

"I don't have one. Go away," is all she responds. She doesn't bother to look at me but she leaves the earphones out.

"The hell you don't, you've been in a sour mood all week," I reply. "Even more so than usual, so what's going on?"

She sighs, as if talking to me is such a hardship, and stands up. She pulls her pyjamas from under her pillow and makes her way out of the room.

"Where are you going?" I ask as she pushes past me in the doorway.

"I'm having a shower," she snaps, slamming the bathroom door behind her with a loud bang.

I stand in her bedroom for a few seconds in stunned silence. The sound of the shower being switched on snaps me out of it, my shock turning to anger. Deciding that next time I won't even try to understand the girl, I go back downstairs in a foul mood.

"Ah, so she's still in a mood, I take it?" Stella asks when she sees my face. She sighs.

"I don't understand what her problem is. She throws such temper tantrums over nothing, I swear!" I complain, sitting down in front of the waiting bowl of chilli.

"She'll grow out of it, eventually," she assures me. "Karen says we just have to be patient with her."

I hold my tongue back on saying that I've got no patience left when it comes to Bailey. Instead, I stuff my mouth with more chilli.

When I finish eating, I move to place the dirty bowl in the sink. It's Oscar's night for dish duty and, from the looks of the stack of bowls and glasses still sitting there, he's either forgotten or is hoping the rest of us will forget. I roll my eyes and make my way upstairs, ignoring the siren call of the television as I have a tonne of Sociology revision to do. My exam is fast approaching.

Just as I'm finally settled on my bed, door closed and notes scattered around in a jumbled mess that I'm sure only makes sense to me, my phone buzzes from my bedside table. I decide to read the text later but, as the buzzing continues, I realise it's a call.

One glance at the name flashing across my screen has my revision entirely forgotten. I dive over the papers and press answer before my phone has a chance to cut out.

"Long time, no speak," I say chirpily.

"I know, too long," Charlotte replies, the smile already in her voice. "I miss you guys, it's too quiet in my flat."

"We miss you more. When are you next getting your butt over here to visit us?" I ask. I lean back against the headboard of my bed, knocking a few of the papers onto the floor as I do.

"Well, I was thinking in the summer I could come down and visit you all for a few days. Toby's going to be away for a while visiting family so I thought I'd do the same," she answers.

Toby is Charlotte's boyfriend of a year and a bit, they got together not long before Dylan and I. They now live in a small flat above some antique shop, about a ten-minute walk away from their university campus.

"Good, I can't wait to see you!" I say happily.

"Right back at you," she replies. "So, how are you?"

"I'm good. A bit tired. I've been working overtime again," I inform.

"You're always doing overtime," she laughs. "How's Ellie? I haven't spoken to her in a while."

Back when they were at school, Ellie and Charlotte were in the same year. They were good friends. They don't seem to talk so much anymore, though. Ellie's always too busy with the café and Charlotte with university.

We talk for a while about Ellie and Paul. I fill her in on news with the café which, I have to be honest, isn't all that interesting. I'm surprised Charlotte manages to sit through an entire conversation about Mrs Goldsmith, a regular at work who always complains that her coffee is either too hot or too cold. Ellie and I have nicknamed her Mrs Goldilocks because she, too, is a high-maintenance whiny pain in the ass.

"Oh," I say, after a huge mental debate of should-I-shouldn't-I? "And some of the Coleman's stopped in the other night."

"Let me guess," she says drily. "They ordered a piping hot cup of the blood of their enemies."

I snort out a laugh, ignoring the uncomfortable squeeze of my heart. "Close enough."

"Did you tell Stella?" she asks.

"Um... am I an idiot?" I reply.

"Well, that's always debatable," she teases. "But good shout. There's no way you'd be keeping that job if you did."

"I know," I roll my eyes.

"Well," she says. "I guess it's my duty as an older sister to warn you to keep your nose out of that particular bakery. I've heard the pies from there can be a little funky."

"Trust me," I reply. "I have no interest in them or their pies."

Memories resurface of my run-in with Lucas and Finn, of the drugs they carry around with them. Then I think of the state Bradley was in when I had to walk him home, half-dead and barely standing. Then, finally, I let myself think of the words Lucas said to me when he dropped me home, a blatant threat that still makes my palms sweaty.

Obviously, I don't mention any of these things to Charlotte. Like I said to her, I'm not an idiot. There's only so much nonchalance that she has to offer. A verbal threat from the Coleman's is exactly the sort of thing that would force Charlotte into over-protective sister mode. She has her own life to worry about; she doesn't need to be worrying about mine, too.

"I know," she replies. "Which is why I'm not worried."

I feel guilty for a split second before I shake it off. I have no reason to feel guilty, it's not like I've lied to her. I just haven't told her the full truth – which is so not the same thing.

"So what else is going on with you?" Charlotte changes the subject. "Are you and Dylan still going strong?"

"Yeah," I reply, guilt now gone as a grin surfaces. "We're going out tomorrow night."

"I'm glad you're still together." I can hear the smile in her voice. "He seems like a good egg."

"Yeah, he is," I agree with a smile.

Charlotte has only met Dylan once, when she last came home to visit. They both got on like a house on fire and Charlotte caught my eye when Dylan wasn't looking, giving me a nod of approval.

It means a lot to me that she likes him.

"What about Bailey?" she then asks, her tone changing, as if bracing for an impact.

"Ugh," I groan, rolling my eyes. "She's being a complete nightmare. And I don't just mean her usual crappy self, she's being unbearable. She won't even tell me why, either. It's like everything I say and do just pisses her off more."

"Jade..." Charlotte sighs. "She's actually angry at Stella and George, right now. Not you."

"What?" I ask, confused. "Why?"

"Atomic Arsonists are going on a UK tour at the end of September. There are still tickets for sale but-"

"Let me guess," I sigh, beginning to understand why my half-sister's been in such a bad mood recently. "They're not letting her go, right?"

Suddenly, things make so much more sense.

It's strange. I know everyone says that people cope with things differently, react to trauma differently, and have different coping mechanisms. Hearing it in theory and experiencing it first-hand, however, are two different things entirely.

Whereas I choose to focus on the future, planning my path ahead to help me forget the one I started on, Bailey's escape is and always has been through music – and it all stems from her mother.

I think it was Bailey's fourth birthday (or was it her fifth?) when her mother gave her that old blue, beat-up MP3 player. It was the only birthday of Bailey's that the woman had remembered to celebrate, and Bailey cherished that thing from the moment her mother placed the earbuds in her ears and pressed play.

There weren't many songs on there, and all by the same band. Pink Floyd – one of the first psychedelic rock bands in the UK.

I know, oddly fitting for a woman tripping off her tits seven days a week, wasn't it?

Still, Bailey was in love. With the songs, the sounds, or simply the chance to escape from reality, I was never too sure. At such a young age, it was the closest thing to happy Charlotte or I had ever seen her, as she'd sit on her mattress in our cramped basement bedroom, humming away to the music.

The day the battery died, a part of her died, too. It was heartbreaking to watch as she attempted again and again to press the play button, not understanding how she'd broken it. She was crying, a complete mess, and Charlotte and I just knew we had to fix it for her. In the end, it was Charlotte who fixed it, begging him to charge the battery.

A favour for a favour, he had said to her when he'd come down to the basement to see what all the noise was about, Bailey's wailing audible even from upstairs. "Settle a debt with my friend and I'll let you brats keep the charger." Those were the exact words he had said to Charlotte.

At the time, I didn't understand what those words meant – too innocent, too naïve. Charlotte didn't understand, either. Still, she agreed. She settled the debt, she got the charger, and she fixed Bailey's music. She was eight years old.

Charlotte was never the same after that.

And there was nothing I could do to help her when he came for her again.

I shake off the grim sense of nausea swirling in my stomach, a whirlpool gradually growing in size and strength as it sucks all the breath from my lungs, drowning and suffocating me both at once. I focus on Charlotte's voice filtering out from my phone, the sound calming me as I desperately try and push the memory away. Charlotte's okay – she's okay. She's busy explaining to me how Bailey's favourite band is touring in the UK – even though they never tour in the UK – and Bailey is pissed that she can't go.

"Even if she could afford ticket and travel – which she can't – Bailey's not eighteen yet. She can't go on her own, not without an adult."

"You could go with her," I suggest, hoping she doesn't hear the waver in my voice. I pass it off as a cough – successfully – and take a deep breath.

That was close – too close. I haven't had a panic attack in so long and I am not about to start again now. I'm stronger than that, stronger than I was back then.

Everything is fine.

"I can't afford ticket and travel, either," Charlotte replies. "Bailey's already asked. I'm skint as shit right now, life is expensive. I can barely afford the train to visit you guys this summer."

"Well... shit," I mutter.

"Just... go easy on her for a bit, yeah?" Charlotte pleads. "She's pretty disappointed right now."

I agree because, despite what Bailey thinks, I'm not actually a complete bitch. I may not understand her love for music – I find it strange that she wants anything that ties her to her old life – but I respect it. I always have.

Bailey needs music to help her breathe, even more so than she does oxygen – and that's okay.

Once I'm off the phone to Charlotte, I grab my laptop and search for the tour dates. The closest venue to us is almost two hours away, on September 23rd – on a school day, no less. Even if Bailey didn't need an adult to go with her, there's no way Stella would let her skip school – she dodges class enough already.

I sigh and close the laptop lid, moving off in search of Bailey.

"What?" her voice snaps from inside her room, not a second after my knuckles make contact with her door.

I take it as an invitation to enter her room.

She's sat on her bed, towel-drying her hair. She rolls her eyes at my reappearance. "What do you want?"

"Why don't you join the others downstairs for a bit?" I ask, my voice deliberately soft as I lean a shoulder against her doorframe.

"They're a bunch of idiots," she says. I snort a laugh.

"Owen, maybe," I agree.

"What do you want?" she asks again, her voice irritated. "I'm not being too noisy, I've done my homework, and now I just want to go to bed."

"Look, Bailey," I start with a sigh. "I'm sorry about the concert. It sucks."

"Great, so Stella snitched to you," she says, now even more annoyed.

"No," I correct. "Char did."

At the mention of the third member of our little trio, Bailey's scowl dissolves slightly.

"Whatever," she sighs. "I'm tired. Can I just go to bed now?"

I watch her for a few seconds before sighing again. "Sure. Night, Bailey."

I shut her door behind me as I make my way back into my room, picking up my fallen notes from the floor. Ten minutes after I get back to my revision my phone lets out a buzz again. This time it's a text from Dylan.

'Hey, babe. How was work? Xx'

I quickly reply with:

'Good. How did Law go? Xx'

A few minutes pass before my phone buzzes with a reply.

'Okay, I think. Hardest exam yet, though xx'

'I'm sure you aced it :) are we still on for tomorrow? Xx'

His reply comes instantly this time.

'You bet ;) what are you doing right now? Xx'

'Attempting sociology revision. It's not going so great xx'

'Just think, not long now until summer xx'

I grin at that before quickly typing out a reply.

'I can't wait! I need to get back to work. I'll see you tomorrow :) xx'

'Okay babe. Love you xx'

'Love you too xx'

Grinning now as I put my phone down, I get stuck back into my sociology revision, marginally distracted by thoughts of my boyfriend.

Revision, exam stress, and the best boyfriend in the world... there's no room in my brain for thoughts of anything else. And that's just how I like it.

*********