"...Wow," Charlotte says, three hours after Bailey and I get back to the house, once I've ranted all my frustrations out to her over the phone.

I lie across the edge of my bed, my legs dangling over the side with my phone pressed to my ear.

I've told her everything: the Coleman's; Oscar and his dad; the trouble we're in with social services; the fact that, despite that, Bailey is still running off to meet Alex in the early hours of the morning; and that she's now lying for him, too – Charlotte knows it all. I couldn't keep it in anymore.

She probably regrets calling me now.

"What a shit-show," she mumbles, still processing it all.

"Tell me about it," I sigh. Then, I wince in preparation for the yelling that's bound to begin. "Go on then, lay it on me. Tell me how crappy a sister I am for letting this happen."

Charlotte sighs, too. It's not a happy sound.

"You're not a crappy sister, Jade. You're probably the best of all of us," she says.

"Sure," I mumble sarcastically, suddenly feeling deflated.

It's funny how that happens when you finally get something off your chest, something that's been crushing you for weeks. I've been telling people half-truths for far too long. It's nice to have someone else know the full story, someone I can actually talk to.

Charlotte's quiet for a while before she speaks again, mulling over the tsunami of information that's just crashed into her life. I can't blame her; I wouldn't know where to start, either.

"This isn't your fault," she eventually tells me. "Bailey's old enough to make her own decisions."

"Clearly not," I disagree.

"Look, if there's one thing I know about Bailey, it's that you can't make her do anything," she says. "If you tell her not to do something, she'll do it anyway. The best you can do is impart your wisdom and hope she takes it on board."

"I just don't want her getting caught up in their mess," I mumble.

"It sounds like you're getting pretty caught up, too, Sunshine," she says, keeping her voice soft to cushion the blow of her words. I don't respond and she carries on. "Being chased by knife-wielding maniacs, playing nurse to the town's top delinquents... it doesn't sound like you're playing it safe, either."

I'm not ready to admit to the truth behind her words, even though they're only confirmation of the epiphany I had back in the park. I feel the need to defend myself, even though I know she's right.

"It's not like I wanted any of that, though," I protest.

"I know that," she agrees. Then, reluctantly, she continues. "But... Jade? If you want to impart wisdom on Bailey, you have to have some wisdom to share." – Ouch – "You've got to lead by example. You told me you were going to stay away from those guys."

"I know," I mutter, trying not to take too much offense to her words. "It just – it got complicated, you know?"

"Because you were faced with losing your job and having Bailey flunk school," she says. "I get that. And I'm not saying it wasn't a tough choice–"

"You're just saying I chose wrong," I interrupt and, despite my best efforts, I can't help but sound a little bitter.

"I'm saying you could have chosen better," she corrects, her voice hesitant.

I roll my eyes, feeling frustrated.

"I tried," I tell her. Where were you?

I want to tag that question on the end but I know, deep down, that it wouldn't be fair. Sometimes, especially when things get difficult at home, it's hard not to feel annoyed that Charlotte's not around anymore. I know it's not her fault – she's only following her dreams, the same as I plan to – but, still, it sucks.

"I know," Charlotte sighs.

We fall silent until I successfully bite back my bitterness. Then, I voice the thought that's worrying me the most.

"Why did she cover for him, Char? I mean, why lie? What if she's already too involved and I'm too late to stop her? What if she's being really stupid?"

I really thought I could trust her to be sensible.

"...Are you going to tell Stella and George?" Charlotte asks, which isn't much of an answer.

Tell them about Alex and Bailey? About everything?

"Would you?" I ask. "If you were me?"

"Yes," Charlotte answers without an ounce of hesitation. "But I'm not you."

"But you think I should, though. Right?" I ask.

Charlotte ponders her answer for a while, and her silence makes me nervous.

"I think you have this inbuilt need to protect people," she replies. "You've always had it, even back when we were kids. You shoulder a lot of responsibility that isn't yours to carry – even now, when there are people around who can help."

Again, it's not really a response to my question.

"That's not an answer," I tell her.

"Isn't it?" she asks.

Is it?

"I don't know..." I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I sit up, scooting back against the headboard. "Stella and George have a lot on their plates already, what with Oscar and social and everything. It doesn't seem fair to push this on them, too."

They have enough to deal with already.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Jade," Charlotte says. She doesn't sound annoyed, exactly – more exasperated, if anything. "Still, you wanted my advice and I've given it to you. It's up to you what you do with it."

"Aren't you going to tell them?" I ask.

"No," she replies. Then, "Yes. Maybe. I don't..." she trails off with a sigh and, immediately, I feel guilty for ever burdening her with this. "It's not really my secret to tell."

And it's not really your problem to deal with.

Telling her was a mistake.

"Look, don't worry about it," I say, shaking my head even though she can't see me. I force my voice to sound more upbeat in the hopes it'll have a ripple effect on the both of us. "We've made a promise to Oscar and Owen to keep our noses Coleman clean from now on, and I've promised Bailey that it'll only have to be until social stops buzzing around. If she thinks it's only temporary, she's more likely to do what she's supposed to. After that... I'll figure it out. I can keep her safe. It's okay."

"Jade..."

"How're things with you?" I ask, now desperate to change the subject.

Two months is plenty of time to figure something out. Everything will be fine.

Charlotte's silent for a while before, eventually, she sighs. It's one of those ten tonne, weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders sort of sighs.

"Well..." she starts. "I was actually going to keep this as a surprise for the both of you but, I guess, with all things considered... I can tell you now."

"Tell me what?" I ask, confused by her ominous, cryptic words.

"I'm going to surprise Bailey for her birthday," Charlotte says. "I've got the train tickets booked already. I'm coming home for a few days in June."

"Really?" I ask and, despite the crappy day I've been having, a bolt of excitement shoots through my body like a firework. And, like that very first firework set off on November fifth, it frazzles with anticipation of the magical display soon to follow.

It's been almost a year since I last saw Charlotte in person – she was busy stuck at work over her Christmas break, so she never had the chance to visit – and I can't wait to see her again. It'll be like growing back a limb, one I've been forced to survive these past ten months living without.

"Really," she says, and now I can hear the smile returning to her voice and, even over the phone, I can tell that her excitement is as palpable as my own. It's been too long since Charlotte, Bailey and I have been together under the same roof – our little trio, reunited, at last. "But you can't tell Bailey. It's got to be a surprise."

A birthday surprise.

"Ah, crap," I groan, slapping my hand against my forehead as the excited fireworks fizzle out to an ominous minefield of dread.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte asks, confused.

"I haven't gotten her a present yet," I sigh, shaking my head. "I don't even know what to get her."

Charlotte coming home for her birthday is the best present Bailey will get this year and – unfortunately – there's no way I can top it.

"Why am I not surprised?" Charlotte laughs.

"What should I get her?" I ask. "You're her sister. What does she like?"

"You're her sister, too, Jade."

"I know, I know," I say quickly. "But you're her favourite sister. She talks to you. What does she like? Tell me."

"Firstly, I'm not her fav–"

"Yes, you are. So, spill."

Charlotte sighs again but lets the argument drop. "Well... she did mention something about wanting these new headphones."

"Headphones?" I perk up, relieved. "I can get her some headphones."

"Perfect," Charlotte says. "I'll send you the info for the ones she's after. She'll want them in red, if possible."

Red headphones – those shouldn't be too hard to get my hands on. It'll just mean another trip to the shopping centre. Maybe Ellie will come with me this time... if I can drag her away from the café for a few hours.

"I'm thinking, maybe..." Charlotte carries on, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Maybe we can talk to Bailey about Alex while I'm there – together. Sister solidarity, and all that jazz?"

"Really?" I ask, beyond relieved by those words.

"Really," she agrees. "I mean it, Jade. This shouldn't be your problem to handle alone. I'm a little pissed at Bailey for putting you in this position, to be honest."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. Charlotte doesn't get pissed at Bailey very often; that's usually more my thing.

"What position?" I ask. "Didn't you just imply that I got myself into this mess?"

"Well... sure," she says. "But Bailey obviously knew you'd get yourself into this mess. It's why she went to you in the first place. She knew you'd say yes when she asked for your help."

I frown. "How can you be so sure?"

"Sunshine..." Charlotte sighs, as if it should be obvious. "You and Bailey fight like cats and dogs but you don't actually hate each other. You both just think it. Bailey thinks you hate her; you think Bailey hates you. But you're both wrong."

Actually, I'm pretty sure she does hate me. Currently, the girl won't even acknowledge my existence. She's still mad about this morning.

"You were never going to say no to Bailey when she asked for cover with Alex, and you were never going to tell Stella or George – and it had absolutely nothing to do with them being under pressure from social because that hadn't even happened yet," Charlotte explains. "You said yes because you want her to be happy. More than that, you don't want her to hate you. Bailey's not dumb, she knows this. She used this to her advantage and didn't care that you'd end up in such a mess because of it."

Her words make a strange amount of sense and, as someone who plans to take a degree in Psychology, I'm a little ashamed I didn't realise all this sooner.

Basically, Bailey is a manipulative little cow.

And I hate that I made it so easy for her.

"Little shit," I mutter with a huff.

"Yep, pretty much," Charlotte agrees. "I know Stella thinks Bailey's just being a typical teen terror but, if I'm honest, I think there's more to this than that. I have no clue why she's got such a chip on her shoulder – and she won't talk to anyone."

Ain't that the truth.

"But, whatever it is, it doesn't give her an excuse to screw you over. She's not being fair on you, at all, Jade," Charlotte says. "Especially now that social have their tits in a twist over Oscar's dad. She's not being fair on any of you."

"So, you'll help me figure this all out?" I return to the Alex-shaped problem at hand.

"Of course, Sunshine. All you ever have to do is ask. You should know this by now," Charlotte sighs. "If you're sure she'll keep away from Alex until my visit, we can sit her down – together – and hash all this out. And, if she still won't see reason..." Charlotte pauses, as if mulling things over. "I'll go to Stella and George to tell them, so you don't have to. That way, you don't have to worry about pissing her off, even though – and I honestly can't stress this enough – she has never and will never hate you. You're her sister."

But she hates being reminded of that.

"Okay," I agree, not bothering to speak that last thought aloud. Bailey's hatred for me – or lack thereof – is obviously something we're never going to agree on. I sigh, relieved. "Thanks, Char."

"Anytime. I mean it," she says. "Now, can we please discuss plans for when I'm home? I've been absolutely buzzing all week and the only person I've been able to tell is Stella. I'm so excited. There's so much we have to fit in to four days!"

"Are you meeting up with Ellie?" I ask. "I think she could do with a break from work, to be honest."

"I was thinking about it, yeah," Charlotte says excitedly, her words whooshing out in one breath. "I'll message her now that you know I'm coming. I know she can be a bit of a chatter-box and I didn't want her accidentally spilling the beans," she laughs and I join in, her enthusiasm as infectious as the smile I hear in her voice.

I've really missed you, Char.

"And for Bailey's birthday I was thinking we could go to that rock café she likes down Vine Street – just the three of us. And then later we could all go bowling – the whole family – and..."

I tune out a little as I listen to her chatter on excitedly, occasionally uttering a sound of agreement when she asks for my advice here or there. Truthfully, whatever she wants to do is fine by me, and I have no doubt Bailey will think the same. Quality time with our sister, that's all that matters.

"And I was thinking you should invite Dylan round at some point, too!" Charlotte continues, the name gaining my complete focus. "I mean, I didn't completely hate him last time – okay, okay," she rushes on before I can interrupt – "the guy seemed like a total gem, to be honest. And I know you're probably dying to make up for lost time now that he's a free bean again."

Yep. A free bean, he most definitely is.

I guess I haven't told her quite everything, just yet.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Um. So, about that..."

***

Half an hour after I get off the phone with Charlotte, I make my way downstairs in search of a brew. Halfway down the stairs, the sound of raucous laughter reaches my ears, pouring out from the kitchen beneath. I recognise the familiar chortles of my family: George, Stella, and Owen. Their laughs are accompanied by the deep, jovial voice of a man – one I also recognise and know well.

"So, Bri and I are following this bloke around the museum for about fifteen minutes, asking him questions, and we're thinking... 'God, this guy is awful at his job. It's like trying to get blood from a stone.' And I'm thinking... "Bloody hell, what a waste of money this tour is. I want a refund.' And then, finally, the bloke turns to us and, as it turns out, the guy wasn't our tour guide, after all. We'd been following the wrong person all along!"

The sound of Stella and George's laughter pipes back up, making me pause behind the closed door. I smile to myself, taking a moment to feel happy that they sound so happy, after having such a crappy day yesterday. Owen speaks, his words lost amongst the hysterics, and this time it's a woman's voice I hear.

"It was just some poor tourist kid – about Jade's age – who had been trying his hardest shake us for fifteen minutes," she breaks off into giggles, struggling to speak as Owen laughs with her. "He must've thought we were insane!"

The guy speaks again. "Poor kid looked very shaken, I'll admit. I think he thought we were trying to mug him or kidnap him or something."

More laughter ensues as I finally push open the door to the kitchen, taking in the sight in front of me.

Owen stands with his hip leant against the counter, a cup of tea in hand as he chuckles and shakes his head, bringing the mug to his lips for a sip. He's dressed in some frayed sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, his hair sticking up like Eraserhead's which likely means he's only recently rolled out of bed. His eyes meet mine as the door opens, his attention momentarily distracted from the table of hysterical adults in front of him, and he raises his hand in a silent greeting. I point at the table and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, to which he simply shrugs and smirks behind another sip of tea.

At the table, George sits beside Stella, hunched over the table with laughter as he accidentally chokes down a swig of coffee the wrong way. He coughs and splutters, which only seems to result in a fresh wave of laughter, and Stella reaches over to pat him on the back as she, too, falls prey to a coughing fit.

Across from Stella sits Brianna, her long-standing friend whom she's known since primary school. The woman sits with her elbow resting on the table, a biscuit held halfway to her mouth as she giggles behind her other hand, her mascara slightly smudged with tears of laughter. She's dressed in her usual bright attire: a pink floral dress and denim jacket.

Next to her sits her husband, John: the notorious storyteller. He smiles fondly at his wife, absentmindedly running his hand along the stubble of his jaw as he, too, chortles away. Much like Ellie, he has a contagious energy about him. And a presence that could light up a room, much brighter than any bulb recorded on the lumens scale.

As with any good aunt and uncle, the pair of them are always welcome in this house. They're as much family to me as the Crawford's – and I've known them longer, too. Well, I've known John longer, at least.

To tell you the truth, John saved my life.

Literally.

John Carter – or, Dr Johnathon Carter, as he's more widely known – is a surgeon at the local hospital. And that's how our paths first crossed.

When I was rushed into emergency theatre on that day (the day that everything changed), it was John who took lead on the insanely long surgery that brought me back from the brink. I had arrived to him, bleeding out and barely breathing, and even he says it's a miracle I survived.

Of everyone in this world, he knows the details of the scar on my stomach better than anyone, and he hates that I hate it so much because, to him, it's his biggest achievement to date.

To him, the scar is a mark of the time he saved my life. To me, it's a reminder of how easily it can all be snuffed out. In the blink of an eye, everything can change. One minute you're here, the next... nothing.

It's terrifying.

"Hello, stranger!" John greets me when he notices me in the doorway, speaking loudly over the chaos of the kitchen. His blue eyes are alight as he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and the warm smile he offers up is as comforting as a hug. It's a familiar smile. It's the first smile that ever made me feel safe, belonging to a man who ensured I always would be.

At a time when I thought nobody cared... he did. And that gave me a hope I hadn't known I'd needed.

John saved more than just my life that day. He saved my future.

"Hey, yourself!" I reply, grinning. "How was Italy?"

The pair have recently returned from a holiday in Naples, a rare occurrence for them. John loves his work almost as much as he loves his wife, and she very rarely manages to talk him into taking annual leave. He's a career man, through and through.

"It was beautiful," Brianna replies, her brown eyes twinkling with the shine of that recent holiday feel. Her olive skin looks darker than usual, freshly tanned from two weeks of sun in Southwestern Europe.

"Bloody expensive, though," John adds, to which Brianna rolls her eyes and smacks him on the shoulder. She catches my eye and mouths the word, "men," quiet enough that John doesn't notice. I snort.

"Yeah, well," Owen pipes up dryly, placing his empty mug in the sink. "That tends to happen when you fork out money on guided tours you don't actually go on, my dude."

"I can't argue with that," John agrees with a shrug, pulling a face. I laugh.

"Go ahead and sit down, Jade," George speaks up, now that he's regained composure from his coffee debacle. He uses his foot to nudge out the chair next to him, at the head of the table, as he stands up from his own. "You want a brew? Kettle's just boiled. I'll make it."

I opt for a tea and take the seat offered.

"Where're Oscar and Bailey?" I ask.

"In the living room, playing Minecraft, and upstairs, sulking," Owen answers, sidestepping out of George's way as he retrieves a new mug from the cupboard above the sink. "I'll give you one guess, who is doing which."

"I didn't know Bailey likes Minecraft," I joke, raising my eyebrows in faux surprise.

Oscar, on the other hand, absolutely loves it. That's just common knowledge, living in this house.

George snorts a laugh and places a fresh tea down on the table in front of me, returning to his seat. We all chuckle as the sound of Oscar's excited shouts filters through from the living room – something about a zombie ninja spawning from nowhere, whatever the hell that means.

John and Brianna stay for about an hour, long enough to tell us more tales of their travels, ask me how my exams went, and discuss some work trivia with Stella and George.

I sit there the whole time, revelling in the conventionality of it all – a welcome break when compared to the drama of the past few weeks. It's nice – simple – as I laugh at more of John's jokes and bicker with Owen, who eventually takes a seat at the last remaining chair available, opposite me at the far end of the table.

At some point, Owen gets bored of listening to Stella as she talks shop about the latest non-fiction book she's been given to work on, and instead turns his attention to the biscuits on the plate in the middle of the table. He grabs one and breaks off pieces into tiny chunks, throwing them at me from across the table when he thinks no one else is looking. His goal? My cup of tea. Eventually, he gets one in.

His victory only lasts a few seconds before Stella notices, his pout verging on comical as she orders him to make me a fresh brew.

Dumbass.

Overall, it's a good time. Between the relaxed atmosphere of the kitchen, the infectious laughter surrounding me, and the promise of Charlotte's impending visit, it's hard to feel the stress of everything else at this moment. Instead, I finally let some of the weight fall from my shoulders as I allow myself to be swept up in the comforting embrace of the loved ones around me.

*********