‘Hope, are you going to put that thing down? Is that him again? Are you sure I shouldn’t call his parents, just to introduce myself?’ Mum asks, looking over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic.

‘No! Just, no! You promised?’

She takes her hands off the wheel and holds them up in defeat. I’m still not used to her knowing about Riley.

‘Hope? Was there something you wanted to talk about?’ Mum taps me on the arm. I wonder when she painted her nails, she hasn’t done them in ages.

‘Sorry, right. Um…’ I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted to talk to her about. My mind is totally empty.

And then I remember him. My brain places a photograph in my head and I hear the last chorus and see Kofi’s face and I know I’ll dream about him again tonight.

‘I need to stop coming into work with you. I’m sorry but I just can’t do this anymore,’ I confess, instantly feeling a failure.

‘You want to audition again?’ she asks, and she’s making her voice flat and calm, pretending that this is fine with her.

I picture the small white box in my top drawer at home with my name and address printed on it. I think of the colours of my medicine, the green and yellow capsules, and I close my eyes for a second and breathe out in relief. I’m not going to do or say anything I shouldn’t, anything I’ll want to die over when I play it back in my head like evidence. I’m not going to do that.

‘Um, no, I don’t actually,’ I reply. And I mean it.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘What’s changed?’ She wants to know. She looks relieved.

‘Everything.’

She’s checking her mirrors as she pulls out into the middle lane to get around a lorry, but I can see she’s happy although she’s trying to keep a lid on it, in case I change my mind.

‘I’ve been talking to Callie after… after we sang, you know… I told Callie about this course that’s just started running in Birmingham. I knew about it ages ago. I saw a poster up in the staffroom about it but I don’t think I was ready to think about it then. When I got brave enough to phone them it was too late, I’d missed the deadline.’ I try and fill her in as quickly as possible.

‘Stop. What course?’

‘I spoke to admissions yesterday. I rang them up and told them I wanted to put my name down for next year and, well, it turns out someone’s dropped out, before it’s even started!’ I’m talking too fast.

‘What’s the course, Hope?’ Mum asks again. I’m trying her patience.

‘It’s Birmingham Music School – part of Birmingham Theatre School, the one Callie’s going to, but it’s not acting, I mean, they do acting, but that’s not why I’m going.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure, Mum. When I went to the RSC, I watched them all talking about their characters, analysing the meaning behind their lines, trying out different voices and accents and I loved every single second of it. If they’d offered me an apprenticeship or even a job as their tea girl, I’d have taken it. But now…’ I take a big breath, before launching into my sales pitch. ‘After Kofi and what happened with Nonno, everything’s changed. I’ve changed. I don’t know what I’m changing into, which scares me, but I want to find out. And maybe if I get in, I will.’

I am desperate for her to understand, to get me, even though I can’t properly explain myself.

‘Hope, what is the course?’ she says so slowly. I realise I still haven’t answered her.

‘Oh God! Sorry, sorry! Music, BTEC Level 3 diploma in music and songwriting.’

‘Songwriting? Ah, I see, well, that makes sense.’

‘I can do this, Mum. I think I’ll be good at it.’ I really mean it.

‘I think so too. I’m so glad you’re writing again,’ she says, completely surprising me. ‘Do you think Singing Medicine might be something you can come back to? I’m going to need new team members if we carry on expanding the way we are. Something to think about, after you’ve done your music course? Or you could even teach music, if you wanted to, like your dad?’

‘Maybe,’ I say and I mean it.

‘What happens next?’

‘I’ve got an audition, a singing audition,’ I clarify, ‘and if I pass it then I’m in and I can start with everyone else at the end of the month. If I pass that is.’ I finish, then close my mouth before I say anymore or jinx the whole thing.

‘You’ll get in, love.’

‘Maybe,’

‘Definitely. I think you might have found your plan B.’