"What are you doing?" House shouted. "You're driving me off the road! How is that even possible? Bowser is three times the size of Baby Peach. She's driving a pram, for god's sake."

"Maybe it's all down to talent, not size," said Anna smugly, sticking her tongue out slightly in concentration as she steered deftly around a corner. "Wait, what's that?"

A shell came spinning out of nowhere, knocking Baby Peach of the road. House cackled as Bowser streamed towards the finish line, unhindered and uncompeted.

"Wait!" Anna squealed. It was too late. Bowser had already begun his victory lap.

"That's not fair! I'm young." She pouted. "You're meant to be nice!"

"Show me that in the rulebook!"

"It's not a rule of Mario Kart, it's a rule of common decency!"

"There are no rules of common decency. Only... guidelines."

Anna couldn't hold back her smile.

"I challenge you to Rainbow Roads to restore my honour!" she declared, throwing down her Wii remote like a gauntlet.

"Ah-ha! You're on."

"Morning!" called Wilson, unlocking the door. Anna and House sighed together, momentarily united against the common enemy that had arrived to ruin their fun.

And so, for a while, things got better. As time went on, Anna learnt to ride the wave of her father's often volatile moods. She learnt to asses, from the ease of his limp or the climax in his case, when he would be up to play some Mario Kart and when it was better to stay out of his way and read.

Fortunately for everyone, House was particularly cheerful over Christmas: he had just finished a peculiar case involving a nun with a copper allergy. His idea of Christmas celebrations was unconventional: takeaway pizza replaced a stuffed turkey and the films of choice were a James Bond saga rather than Home Alone. Wilson and House sat on the sofa and Anna cross-legged on the floor, enjoying their commentary coming from behind her almost as much as the film itself. In Anna's opinion, the whole thing was a massive improvement on the stuffy family affairs her mother had taken her to- with one enormous drawback. As Christmas Day turned into Boxing Day and Wilson went home to his wife, Anna still hadn't received a single present.

She did try to disguise her disappointment but House noticed anyway.

"I don't know what you're so upset about. Christmas is a time for family and religion and God," he said. "Toys are just a distraction from what really matters."

Anna leapt up. "You mean you got me something? Thank you, thank you!"

House rolled his eyes and nodded her towards a large cardboard box that had been cluttering up the lobby. "Happy Christmas, squirt."

Anna tore the box open to reveal a telescope, similar to the one House had sent to her flat years ago.

"I know you had to leave yours in London," said House gruffly while Anna grinned. "There's a little yard round the back where you can use it. But you'll have to put it together yourself. I'm not helping you or anything," he added, to make it clear that he hadn't gone soft.

Anna thought she caught his meaning.

From then on, the tiny, scrubby yard outside the apartment belonged to Anna. Even in the middle of January she would sit outside for hours, bundled in coats and jumpers, watching the moon. She liked stargazing so much that she even gave the imaginary Alicia Spinnet an imaginary telescope- a better model, of course- and told Mrs Francatelli the librarian all about it.

"What did you give in return?" Francatelli asked after listening to Alicia's stargazing adventures with interest.

That was a good point. Anna hadn't thought about that.

When House's birthday came around in January, Anna couldn't think of a single thing that a grumpy old man like her father could possibly want. Wilson told her not to bother ("He doesn't care much about birthdays.") but the idea stuck with her. In the end, she baked a dozen slightly pathetic and sunken cupcakes and left them for House to discover on the kitchen counter with a note- scrawled on a paper towel before she lost her nerve. She spent the entire night trying to resist the temptation to throw the cakes and the note in the bin and pretend they had never existed. By the time Anna came back from school, they were gone. Neither of them spoke about it, but Anna sensed that he was mildly pleased. Or maybe she just hoped so.

Anna's thirteenth birthday was six days later. House forgot, of course, but after a heavy hint, he left fifty bucks on the table with a note (Take your nerdy friends bowling or something. Happy Birthday.). These notes worked as a form of sincere communication: Anna and House knew that they still bottled whenever they attempted any sincere conversation. A note dashed off then left in the kitchen without too much second-guessing would do.

They shared a small flat. They didn't argue too much. They lived around each other but not really together: housemates but not a family. It was an arrangement that worked, sort of, and Anna tried not to push the boundaries of their relationship too far. Except…

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Wilson asked Anna as he perched on the arm of the couch next to House. House did a double take, looking at Anna and then the clock.

"Oh, yeah. Go to school."

"I'm not going today."

Wilson looked weary. "Come on, Anna, you know you don't have a choice…" he said coaxingly.

"No, I mean today is work experience day. I'm coming into work with you." She ran into her room and emerged with an official-looking letter which she presented to Wilson.

Wilson held it by his fingertips and inspected it. "Well, it seems real enough."

"Of course it is, would I lie to you?"

"Yes," said House bluntly. "You've inherited the manipulative gene, look-" he snatched the letter from Wilson. "Dear Dr House, blah blah blah- oh here it is: as you have already submitted a signed form agreeing to take part, Anna Romilly is excused from school on February 9th. I didn't sign anything."

"You must have forgot-"

"I didn't sign anything." He threw the letter back at Anna. "What do Junior High Schoolers need work experience for anyway?"

"It's more like... a taster day. Giving us a feel for the workplace. Oh, come on, please?"

"But it's annoying!" moaned House. "You spend enough time at PPTH anyway, why do you need to come in today?"

"Because it gets me off school."

"You could get off school by going to a bank or an office or something. Why does it have to be a hospital? My hospital."

"Because I want to be a nurse."

House turned to look at her slowly. "Don't you mean you want to be a doctor?"

"No," Anna savoured his incredulous expression. This was the sort of reaction she had been hoping for. "A nurse."

"You want to be a professional poop-scooper."

"A valued member of the medical profession with unrivalled responsibility for the well-being of patients, yeah." She'd rehearsed this argument in her head. She was particularly pleased with her use of the word 'unrivalled'. She thought it made her sound grown-up.

House heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Fine. Come to the hospital and I'll show you all the fun sh-" Wilson glared- "fun stuff we doctors do all day."

"Sure," said Anna grinning, "the crossword."

As soon as House sat down in the passenger seat of Wilson's car he seemed lost, out of place. About halfway through the journey, he started to rummage around with increasing urgency. He patted his pockets, threw the contents of the glove compartment all over the floor, dug around in the back of his jeans.

"House?" Wilson took his eyes away from the road anxiously. "Stop it, you're distracting me."

"Have you lost something?" asked Anna from the back seat.

House muttered something inaudible. He turned to Wilson.

"We have to go back."

"No, we can't. I've got a meeting with a patient in fifteen minutes."

"But Wilson…"

"No," he said firmly. "You're picking up a new prescription today anyway. You can hold out till then."

"I need my backups…"

"You don't need them-"

"Yes!" House snapped.

There was a very long silence while Wilson navigated an intersection.

"House…"

"I'll wait."

"House… do you think… Perhaps that 'need' is a bit-"

"No, I don't," said House. He didn't say a word for the rest of the journey.

When they arrived, House made a beeline for the pharmacy on the ground floor. He barked at the pharmacist to hurry up, while at the same time making anxious jerky movements, rolling his cane back and forth, pacing, drumming his fingers. After he gave the pharmacist yet another earful, Anna made her excuses and went to wait in his office. There was something disconcerting about the whole scene and Anna had learned recently that there were some things she preferred to remain oblivious to.

Anna liked House's fellows. Cameron was invariably nice to her, Chase was both funny and at least a tiny bit English from the years he'd lived there, and Foreman (in a good mood) could be persuaded to tell her about some interesting or gory medical cases he had worked on. They, in turn, had got used to her. The three barely noticed her as she walked in.

"Hey, Anna," muttered Cameron, looking up from her magazine.

"Where's your dad?" asked Chase.

"The pharmacy," said Anna ominously. They all grunted in understanding. All told, House spent a lot of time lingering outside that hatch on the ground floor.

"So shouldn't you be in school?" asked Cameron.

"It's a work experience day."

"Hey, do you want me to introduce you to one of the nurses? I'm sure someone would love to talk to you about the job."

Cameron introduced Anna to the terrifying but very impressive Nurse Brenda who was filled with warped pleasure by the idea of House's daughter "defecting" (as she put it). They spoke for over an hour and by the time Anna came back, House and his team had acquired a case. This meant, House informed her with a callousness that Anna associated with his worst days, that he didn't have any time for her.

She wasn't hurt. She would rather play on House's Gameboy in the back office than be at school. But still, something nagged at her throughout the day, that there was something off about his manner, something that was so very different from their Mario Kart race that morning. His team saw it too: they held him at an arm's length and didn't dare to make any jokes.

"Just checking that everything's okay!" declared Wilson with glaring fakeness when he burst into the differential room that afternoon. House looked up from the floor with effort. Anna could see the beginnings of red rings around his eyes.

"Do you want a lift back now?"

House said nothing.

Wilson gave it another stab, more direct this time. "I wanted to make sure Anna knew what's going on. If you're sure you don't want me to stay tonight, that is..."

"He's asking you to spy on me!" said House in a stage whisper.

"What?"

"He wants-" said House as though speaking to someone very young or very stupid, "-you to snitch if I take any Vicodin."

Anna raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's a full-time job."

"House isn't going to take any Vicodin for the next week," explained Wilson.

"Why?"

"To get a month off clinic duty," said House loudly and finally.

"I don't know about this stuff…" began Anna timorously.

"Damn right."

"But isn't that dangerous? To stop taking your medicine so suddenly?"

"It's fine because I'm not addicted."

"Won't it…"

"Hurt? Yes." House stared at her challengingly. "But I'm not addicted, so it won't be dangerous. I won't experience withdrawal symptoms."

"Just pain." Anna's stomach was twisting uncomfortably.

House hauled himself to his feet. "That's right."

Anna wanted to tell him that it was stupid, that he was an idiot, that he had a patient and, if life without Vicodin was as difficult as Cuddy told her it was, he was putting himself in danger. Putting the patient in danger. Putting her in danger.

She didn't say any of these things. Their relationship was all about keeping the Jenga tower from toppling: a delicate touch and a cautious hand.

And that night honestly wasn't too bad. A little bit of Vicodin still remained in his system. He had, after all, had at least two pills that morning. Anna fixed herself dinner, as she normally did, but cooked some extra sausage and mash for House too. He didn't say thank you, but he did eat it all.

As the evening wore on, Anna thought he began to suffer more. She was not as good as Wilson, or even Cuddy, at reading his pain from his face and movements, but she had picked up some signs over the few months she had been living with him: the vacant expression as he stared at the television, trying to distract himself; the deep circles he carved into his thigh with the heel of his hand; how he sat unusually fidgety or unusually still. Anna wanted to do something almost as much as she knew he wouldn't appreciate the help.

"Hot or cold?" she asked finally, with the air of someone losing their temper.

"What?"

"Which makes it better, hot or cold? Do you want an icepack? A heat pad?"

Anna sensed she'd crossed a line before House confirmed it. He snarled at her impertinence even though they both knew that he would have appreciated the help. Rolling her eyes, she took the hint and went to her bedroom.

Lying on her bed, Anna was very still as she listened. She heard House stop the television after an hour, heard his long, painful walk to the bathroom, heard the first of the vomiting splashing in the porcelain bowl. She listened as her stomach churned and an all-too-familiar feeling took over.

She turned on her side, faced the wall, and pretended with all her might that her name was Alicia Spinnet and she lived in a fancy mansion with both her perfect, healthy parents.

Anna was well-acquainted with the stirring cauldron of worry that sat somewhere deep in her tummy, but that familiarity did not make it easier to bear. Instead, if anything, it made it more difficult. How long had it been since Anna had sat staring out of the window of her English secondary school, worried sick about her mother?

Anna sat through the day impatiently. She was desperate not to hint to her new group of chattering friends that something was wrong, but she was equally desperate for somebody to notice. She wanted anyone to take her aside and say: "Hey, Anna, I can't help but notice that you've chewed your nails to the quick even though you don't normally bite them and you haven't really listened to anything the teacher's said all day and you disappeared to the toilet at lunch and came back with red eyes like you'd been crying. Are you okay?" But nobody did. They weren't bad friends, but they weren't mind-readers.

After school, Anna got off the bus at the hospital, several stops before the one closest to home. She liked to do this most days, hanging around the hospital until her dad finished work and gave her a lift home. While she always had an excuse ("I needed to give back a library book", "The bus only costs half as much to the hospital", "I thought I'd forgotten my keys", "I wanted to talk to Lisa,"), the real reasons were more complicated.

Anna knew that so many people stuck inside PPTH would give anything to get out, and she appreciated the irony that she tried to find excuses to stay around. Truth was, she thought of the hospital like a great temple of learning, with high ceilings and polished floors and a reverent feel to the air. She liked to explore little nooks and corners of the enormous building, like the fourth-floor waiting room with the squishy chairs and the nice views from the roof. She found the flat boring; there was always something interesting to do and someone to talk to at the hospital, whether it was Cuddy or Wilson or the librarian.

There were other reasons too, ones which Anna didn't like to admit even to herself. Like that when House was late home (which he was almost as often as he was early) her thoughts would start to drift as scenarios played out from bad to worse in her mind. Today, as House slowly declined for the sake of a stupid bet, Anna needed to know what was going on.

It was no longer possible to deny that there was anything wrong with House. Anna checked his office first, found it empty and, without thinking, burst into Wilson's office instead. Sluggish, it took him a few moments to look up and notice her standing there.

When House had the infarction, Anna was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and told to sit with a colouring book in Cuddy's office until Stacy came to get her. Anna couldn't sit and do that, not while whispers and rumours about amputation and kidney failure and death buzzed through the hospital.

She snuck out of the office and somehow, she couldn't remember how, found House's hospital room and stood outside, watching through the glass. His eyes, red and raw, met hers. For a split second, we were both still. Then his eyes rolled away as his heart stopped for the first time.

Anna ran.

For years, Anna had tried to get that image out of her head. Now, for the first time in ages, it flashed in front of her eyes again.

House was sitting on the couch in Wilson's office, red-eyed and teary and throwing up into a wastepaper bin while Wilson hid his face behind a patient file. It took a moment for them to notice Anna's arrival. When they did, Wilson shoved the file away and House desperately tried to hide the vomit and his face and everything else.

Anna wanted to run away like she had done when she was seven. She forced herself to sit on Wilson's desk calmly.

"Do you want IV fluids?" asked Wilson as though Anna wasn't there.

"I'm fine," House muttered. Remarkably, Wilson didn't argue with this ridiculous statement.

"Go home, House. I'll drive you both back."

"I can't go home. I have a case. They need me." He looked at the vomit bin. "I'll be there in five minutes, once I feel better."

He looked up defiantly, waiting for Wilson or Anna to challenge him.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Anna.

"Because throwing up in a bin is better than all over the floor."

"That's not what I meant."

"He knows," said Wilson. "Look- it's a good thing. It's good to explore alternatives to the drugs," he said, with less than complete confidence. "Go and sit with your team for a half hour, House, then I'm driving you home."

"Yes, mom."

Wilson gave a long-suffering sigh. "Clean yourself up." He pulled out a pack of wet wipes, a bottle of body spray to hide the tang of vomit and a clean shirt to put over his tee. When House had finished, he almost looked okay.

"Remember House- half an hour!" Wilson called as House stumbled off at an agonisingly slow pace.

"I don't understand." Anna felt teary and worn down by a day of worry.

"It's for the best," said Wilson. "I promise, it's for the best."

The flat had never felt so big. Anna sat on the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest. She could make out retching from the bathroom.

She hugged her knees tighter.

There was nothing that she could do. The wind beat on the windows, rattling the glass in its frames. At least her mum had always tried to make her feel useful. "Make me a cup of tea, love," she'd say, because when Anna boiled the kettle and arranged the tea tray just so, her hands were still. They were shaking now. She hated this.

She had hoped, for a little while, that it would be different. A stupid bet. A stupid bet.

The television flickered, but the volume was muted. On the screen, plastic women enthused about home décor. A suited man ran his hand over a granite countertop. In the background, the retching continued, now without the splash of liquid hitting the stagnant water of the toilet bowl.

She hated this. She hated this. She turned over the channel.

It was one of those medical soaps. Anna's mind picked out characters; there was the blond surgeon, the high-heeled nurse. Tight-fitting scrubs, CPR on a hurtling gurney, surgeon straddling and underpaid actor as fake blood spewed from his mouth. There was a heavy thud. Anna dropped the remote control.

She counted to ten and heard nothing- no cursing as he stumbled to his feet, no groan or wince or heave as he hauled himself up. She counted to ten again, just to be safe. The wind began to whistle, making odd noises as it spiralled in the chimney. With the slightest sigh, she made her way over to the bathroom, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like a superhero's cape, socked feet making muffled footsteps on the floorboards.

She chanced a "House?". She was sure she could hear her every accelerating heartbeat before he replied.

"Fuck off."

She took that as an invitation. The door was unlocked, and she nudged it with her hip, her hands pulling the blanket tighter around her. "House?"

He was sprawled on the floor, hugging the toilet like a lifeline. A thin layer of sweat clung to his face.

"I said go away." His voice was thready.

Anna bit her lip. She wanted to run out of the room, run away, take his advice, stop worrying, stop caring.

"Not in those words."

Her foot skimmed the floor, back and forth, back and forth, as she tried to figure out the right way to say it. When she did, it sounded like a plea.

"I want to help. Please, please, let me help. House?"

His jaw set and he looked at the filthy tiled floor. There was a spot of vomit on his cheek. He breathed a few times, shallow as though he'd been running.

"For fuck's sake!" He turned to face her, eyes unflinching and cruel. "You can't, okay? There is nothing you can do."

"It would make me feel better," Anna admitted in a small voice.

"Well, as long as you feel better," he sneered, with a full force of nastiness that made Anna's stomach turn. She scratched her temple and took one, final look at his pathetic form before she pivoted on her heel and walked away, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She picked the phone from its cradle and punched in Wilson's number. It was late. She didn't care. She was handing over responsibility.

She let herself slide down the wall and into a little heap on the floor as the phone dialled. Pick up pick up pick up…

"House?" His voice was groggy and a little startled. She could imagine him getting up from in front of the television- maybe he had been curled up with his wife- and spotting the caller ID and getting that feeling… A stone in the stomach, a punch in the gut, what's House done today?

"It's Anna."

She listened to the line crackle with anticipation for a moment, ordered her thoughts.

"You need to come, Wilson. I don't think…" The words skittered just beyond her reach.

"You don't think what?" A note of fear crept into his voice. With House, of course, you never knew.

"I don't think he can get up. He's just there, on the bathroom floor. He won't let me do anything. He won't even let me make tea, not that he'd want it or anything… but it would be kind, wouldn't it, to make me feel like I could do something, even though I know I can't?" Anna's grip on the phone tightened. "He's been chucking up all evening, ever since he got home… I- I don't know what to do. He hasn't drunk anything. He'll be dehydrated."

"Let me worry about that," Wilson said firmly, as if it was that simple. "I'm going to be right over. I'll sort it out, I promise."

Anna chuckled incredulously. She was not very old, but she knew better than to believe promises like that.

"Wilson, you can't."

He was silent for a very long time. Anna could almost hear his face shifting as he thought. By the time he replied, her chuckle had faded.

"No. I can't. I- I'll be right over, Anna. Hold tight."

Anna listened to the click as the phone call ended and reached up to put it away. She leant back against the wall as the rain poured. The sound wasn't comforting like it used to be, more like each harsh droplet tried to burrow its way into her head, surrounding her on all sides, trapping her. She wondered if the rain made his leg worse. Probably.

When Wilson arrived, opening the door with his own key, he hung up his coat on the hatstand and marched into the bathroom. They had a low, murmured conversation with some shouting and a few hissed curses. Finally, there were twin groans of House hauling himself to his feet and Wilson supporting him.

"I got you, House," Wilson grunted.

She heard the rattle of the bedroom door, the creak of the mattress as House settled down, a yelp- scream-like.

"Sorry, sorry," Wilson said. "I know I'm probably being redundant, but try and sleep, House."

"You must be a doctor or something," House muttered. His voice was muffled: he was speaking into his pillow. Wilson emerged from the door quietly.

"Anna?"

She stumbled to her feet. Wilson gestured at her to follow him into the kitchen, where he extracted a heating pad from the back of one of the cupboards.

"Why don't you put on some toast? Just plain, to see if he can keep it down."

Anna nodded and opened the breadbin, put two slices of bread in the toaster and slid the slider down. The metal inside began to glow, red-hot.

"He let you help him," she commented idly.

"He's got to let somebody," Wilson replied, filling up a glass of water. "Anna- you can come and stay at my house tonight. Or for the rest of the week, if you like. I'll keep an eye on him. I can sleep on the couch here, Julie can take care of you there."

"No." Anna couldn't leave, couldn't sleep miles away in Wilson's guest room, not knowing what was happening, worrying. "No, I can't…"

"He can't look after you right now." Wilson turned around to face Anna, crouching slightly so he was looking her in the eye. She felt like a child.

"I don't need looking after," she spat. The toast popped. Anna slammed it onto a plate. "Don't you see? That's not how it works."

"Well, maybe it should." Wilson put a gentle hand on Anna's shoulder, asking rather than forcing her to turn around and look at him. "Maybe you should let me drive you home, and let Julie heat up something for you to eat- we had chilli, there's plenty left- and send you to bed on time."

"I can't."

"Of course you can. Go pack a bag." Wilson took the plate from Anna's hands. "I'll go give this to him. Maybe you should say…"

"No." Anna shook her head firmly. "I don't have anything to say to him. He's…" She couldn't quite find the right word.

"I know." He smiled tiredly. "Believe me, Anna, I know. Five minutes?"

"Five minutes." She agreed.

Wilson kept glancing back at House's closed bedroom door as they exited the apartment and when they sat in the car he hesitated to switch on the engine. Anna knew he was reluctant to leave House even for half an hour while he drove home and back. She wondered if the situation was worse than she thought; if her inexperience meant that she'd done the wrong thing. What if he was really sick? Could he die?

"You did the right thing," Wilson said, as though reading her thoughts. "He's going to be alright."

He looked at the keys in the dashboard with a sigh and was about to start the car when the phone rang. Anna froze. Panic descended on her suddenly, forming a dull, urgent knot somewhere at the base of her ribs. It twisted, pulled, she felt sick. Every hair stood on end, every muscle tensed. It's only Julie, she realised feebly.

"Umm… Yeah. Julie, I'm bringing Anna back with me. I'm going to have to drop her off with you… Sorry, love, he needs me… I know, I'll explain… I have to, Julie. I have to."

Anna felt pressure build behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut, ignored the tingle in her nose, her quivering lip. With a soggy snort, she could no longer hold it in. She blubbered desperately into her sleeve, unable to even bring herself to care about Wilson next to her.

"Julie- I've got to go. See you soon...Okay." He turned to Anna. "Anna, I said he's going to be alright. It's been a horrid few days, and it will be a horrid few more. But he'll be fine."

Anna scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and looked up at Wilson with impatience.

"I'm not crying for him! I'm selfish," she said, disgusted with herself. "I don't want to be worried, I don't want to jump every time a phone goes off… I thought it would be different, now. I don't want to do this anymore," she said as she collapsed into fresh sobs. "Not anymore."

She'd picked out a movie, made a meal and was all ready to spend an evening with her husband when the phone rang. Julie lifted her head off his shoulder resentfully.

"Sorry, sorry." James held out a hand, both defensive and apologetic, but picked up the phone anyway. "Hello?"

Julie stood up, stretched and made her way to the window. James gestured for her to come back. She ignored him.

Julie wasn't prepared to take responsibility for their row on Sunday, but she had been bored with the stiff silence that had lingered between them ever since. A chilli, a movie. She thought these might fix things. All it would have taken from him was to be there.

James followed her to the window with a guilty sort of footfall that she could recognise even with her back turned. His hand touched the small of her back, and she shook it off. A year ago, she'd have shouted at him. A year before that, she'd have kissed him and told him to do what he had to do.

"Julie..."

"Work?"

"No."

"House?"

"In... a manner of speaking."

Julie felt like growling with frustration.

"I was trying to make things better," she said slowly.

"I know. But Julie, I have to go."

She laughed lightly. "You always do. I don't get to decide where you go or don't," she added dangerously.

"Julie. Honey. I have to go. It's Anna. House's..."

"Daughter. Yes, I know. How old is she, again?"

"Thirteen."

"Should he have children? He doesn't strike me as father of the year."

James immediately bristled. "Don't make judgements on things you don't understand."

"Go," said Julie, approximately six months past caring. It was dissolving, unravelling. He wouldn't even let her try to stick it together. "Just go."

The car pulled into the drive forty minutes later. Julie opened the door to James and a haggard-looking, ginger girl. The night was not especially cold, but she shook a little as the wind blew through her unbrushed hair.

"You must be Anna," she said, holding her shoulders. She didn't look at her husband. "You look starving. Come and have something to eat."

While Anna gulped down her leftover chilli like she had been starved, James took Julie aside.

"It's a long story."

"I don't care."

"She's going to have to stay. We need to look after her for the week."

Julie almost laughed aloud at his obliviousness. We? He wasn't going to be the one cooking extra meals or washing sports kits.

"House is sick," said James to nobody in particular. "He's trying to get off his painkillers, and it's been hell. Anna- well, no kid at all- should have to see someone like that."

"Of course she can stay."

"Thank you," James took her hand but she pulled it away.

"I'm not doing it for you." She turned on her heel and back towards Anna. "I think I have some ice-cream for dessert, how's that sound?"

"I need to go back," said James quietly. "I have to stay over."

"If you have to," said Julie, not looking at him.

When he left, Julie dug out clean sheets, made the guest bed and cleaned up the kitchen. She realised she had to keep Anna up- she didn't want her to go upstairs and lie awake, tangled in worry. By the time Julie was satisfied that the girl was sleepy enough, she showed her to the spare room and collapsed into her own bed. She would have to be up an hour and a half early to drive Anna to school.

Alone in bed, Julie finally found the energy to feel angry at her husband.