There are lots of things that need to be organized when someone dies. It’s amazing really, how much has to be sorted out. Not that I’ve got anything to do with that. Dad is really busy, on the phone constantly, telling people what’s happened and trying to find out when we can have the funeral. Apparently it’ll be really soon, which seems weird because we won’t have had time to get used to the idea that Mum’s not here before we have to say goodbye to her.

Dad told Isaac last night after he’d told me. Leah cried a lot and spent ages in Mum’s room, talking to her. Dad asked if we wanted to see Mum. I didn’t want to, but Dad thought it might help Isaac to understand that Mum was gone. Isaac went into Mum’s room with Dad but came back out straight away. He got a bit cross and said he didn’t know who that was in Mum’s bed, but it wasn’t Mum, and could Dad please make whoever it was go away. He didn’t cry or anything, but when I went into his room later on he was just lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. His PlayStation wasn’t even turned on.

Alice called me this afternoon. Her mum must have spoken to Dad because she already knew. It wasn’t very easy to talk to her – I think she was scared about saying the wrong thing and I didn’t have the energy to think about other stuff to talk about.

People keep asking me how I am but I can’t answer them. Not because I don’t want to but because I just don’t know. It all seems so unreal. I didn’t think it was supposed to happen like this. On television, they always have loads of time to say goodbye when someone dies and it’s always really sad but kind of lovely too. This just seems too quick – I actually feel a bit embarrassed, like we got it wrong somehow. Dad tried to explain to me that we have no control over stuff like this and just have to deal with what gets thrown at us. That sounds rubbish. I want to choose what happens to me. Mum’s always said there’s no such thing as fate – that we decide what happens to us. If it’s true, then that means she decided to leave me. I just don’t know what to think any more.

I’ve come down to the kitchen for a drink, but now I’m here I can’t seem to find the energy even to take the juice out of the fridge. I sit down at the kitchen table and wonder why the house feels different. Like something is missing. Then I realize there is something missing – someone missing – and it hits me that nothing will ever be the same again. It might look the same – same fridge, same table, same brand of juice that Mum always chooses. But it can’t be the same, not really.

I sit in the kitchen for ages until it starts to get dark. I should turn on the light or put the lamp on, make it cosy like Mum does, but I can’t be bothered. I’m just starting to wonder if it’s possible to stay in this chair all night when I hear someone thundering down the stairs and then the kitchen door bursts open and the light blazes on.

‘It’s dark,’ says Isaac. I try to hide the tears that seem to have been flowing down my face for hours, but they just keep on coming and wiping them away doesn’t seem to make a difference. Isaac walks across the room and looks at me very carefully. He looks really serious as he leans towards me and examines my face. I say nothing and watch as he straightens up and takes a few more steps until he’s standing by the wall planner, looking at the photo display of faces that I made for him. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and turns round, walking back until he’s standing behind me.

‘You’re sad,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ I tell him and then my brother, who has never tried to work out how I’m feeling in my whole life, pats me on the shoulder. I sit very still while his hand moves awkwardly up and down, as if he’s trying to remember the rules for making someone feel better.

After a while, when the patting gets too much, I reach back and grasp his hand in mine. And then we stay, holding hands, while the world outside the kitchen gets darker and darker.