Bang, crash, whack! Something loud wakes me the next morning. It takes me a while to work out it’s Nic, bashing on her drums, and I’m smart enough to know she’s not practising for another talent show. The interschools comp at City Hall was last weekend, but with everything going on with Dad, Nic and Mel didn’t compete. I listen for ages, hoping Mum will come and get me, but then the drums stop and it’s Nic who opens my door.

‘Mum’s gone early to the hospital,’ she says. ‘I have to get you up.’

Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream.

I hold it together while Nic dresses me, even when she bends back my fingers while pulling on my shirt and almost knocks me over when she’s tugging up my leggings.

‘Don’t!’ she says sharply, slapping away my hand when I nearly pinch her. ‘I’m not Mum.’

After she’s put my shoes and socks on, she walks me out to the kitchen, where she texts while putting bread in the toaster. She spreads it with jam, still texting, and I do my best not to dribble or choke when I eat it.

‘What are you looking at?’ she says when she finally glances up from her phone.

I focus on chewing. Nothing – just wanted to say thanks for giving me jam.

After breakfast, she flicks the TV onto the Disney Channel and sits with me while the time ticks by. At 10.15 her phone starts to buzz. ‘Hey, Mel. No. No, not yet. My mum’s still at the hospital, so yeah, I have to … huh? What? Now? No, she’s … Mel! Mel?’

Mel arrives ten minutes later, but not before Nic’s given me a lecture about dribbling, screaming and hair pulling.

‘Hey, Ava,’ says Mel when she comes in. Her nose wrinkles, but only the tiniest amount.

Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream.

‘Nice t-shirt,’ she adds. Nic’s dressed me in my Elmo t-shirt. Red without a trace of purple. ‘So, how’s your dad?’

Nic’s trying to stand between me and Mel, probably so Mel won’t see the dribble on my chin. ‘Yeah, he’s, you know, pretty bad.’

Mel glances down the hall. ‘So, is your mum looking after Ava while we go?’

‘She’s still at the hospital.’

‘Seriously? So, like, what? Your life’s literally still on hold?’

Nic pushes a stray curl from her face. She’s hardly touched her hair all holidays, just throwing it up in a messy high bun. ‘Kind of.’

‘But everyone’s waiting. Just come. Ava will be right, won’t you, Ava? Pleeeease?’

What? Leave me here on my own?

Luckily Nic shakes her head, making Mel push a little harder. ‘Go on. Just text your mum. And tell her to hurry.’

Nic sighs and does what she’s told. When her phone buzzes a few seconds later, her face breaks into a tiny smile.

‘So? Can we go?’ Mel reaches to look at the screen, but Nic turns away so she can’t see it.

‘Mum’ll be here in half an hour.’ Nic glances down at her crumpled sausage-dog pyjamas. ‘Oh my god! Look at me. I have to go get ready.’

Mel laughs. ‘Yeah, you do. So, is it okay if we meet you there? Just, it’s already 10.30 and …’

‘Sure.’ Nic’s pulling at her hair in front of the hallway mirror. ‘See you there.’

Nic’s ready and waiting when Mum pulls up. Once I’m in the car, we drop Nic at the cinemas, but take a different route home. Where are we going, Mum?

Mum’s quiet. Too quiet. Is Dad okay?

She pulls up in a suburban cul-de-sac, in front of a weatherboard cottage where the front yard is surrounded by a high white pool-style fence. What is this place?

My heart pounds as Mum turns to me in the back seat. Something’s wrong. She’s swallowing very hard.

‘It’s okay, Ava,’ she says. ‘We’re just looking, okay? And if it’s not one hundred per cent perfect, I mean one hundred per cent …’ She glances over at the fence.

What are you talking about, Mum?

She helps me up to the gate, which is locked, but when she presses the buzzer, a lady appears with a rattly bunch of keys. Her name badge says ‘Kirsten’, and she’s wearing friendly bright red glasses.

‘You must be Deb. And this is the lovely Ava?’ says Kirsten. ‘I’m the manager here at Rosie’s Cottage. Won’t you come in and have a look around?’

Rosie’s Cottage? The respite place Dad found?

Is Mum sending me to respite?

What if Kirsten’s like Wendy and doesn’t understand me?

But soon I relax because it’s obvious that Kirsten is nothing like Wendy. There are no Sergeant Major instructions and no stern looks through narrowed eyes. Instead, Kirsten’s warm, bubbly voice calms me as she shows us around. Even though there are bars on the windows, the cottage feels more like home than I expected. There’s a kitchen just like ours, a comfy-looking lounge, and two bedrooms with beds covered in colourful quilts. From what I can see there’s no sign of a time-out room like at school. Outside, a deck overlooks a playground with a sandpit.

‘We try to match our clients in terms of ability,’ Kirsten says once we’ve seen everything and are standing in the kitchen. ‘Can Ava talk at all?’

Wouldn’t I have said something by now?

‘No. Ava has never been able to talk,’ says Mum. ‘It’s part of her disability.’

Kirsten glances at the scribbles on her notepad. ‘Any communication? Any cards, or signing?’

Don’t talk to me about cards.

Mum shakes her head. ‘No, not really. We just guess things a lot of the time. You know, like if she’s stressed, we see it in her body language and …’ She looks down at my clasping hands. ‘If she’s unhappy, she’ll scream or lash out. If she’s tired, she slumps in her chair. We just sort of gauge things by how she looks.’

Kirsten nods.

‘We certainly know when she’s happy,’ Mum adds, laying a reassuring hand on my arm. ‘Ava has the biggest smile.’

Kirsten’s eyes wrinkle kindly. ‘Nice,’ she says. ‘Okay, so now for the fun stuff. What does Ava like to do on the weekends?’

I’d love to go to the movies, or shopping for new clothes, or …

‘Actually, Ava doesn’t like going out that much. New places can be a bit of a sensory overload sometimes, so she prefers hanging around the house, I think, watching kids’ shows, you know, like Play School and the stuff on ABC Kids.’ Mum strokes my hair like I’m a cat, and I pull my head away.

I’d rather watch the Disney Channel, Mum. Or one of Dad’s animal documentaries.

‘All okay, Ava?’ Mum asks. ‘Getting hungry?’

Squish, clap, clench.

Don’t treat me like a baby.

Kirsten pauses for a second, watching my hands clasp while Mum rummages in her handbag for her stash of snacks.

‘On that, what does she like to eat?’ asks Kirsten. ‘Is she fussy, have any allergies, or any favourite foods?’

Macca’s nuggets and chips.

‘Ava’s a great eater,’ says Mum. ‘I mean, she loves junk food, like any kid, but she’s just as happy with broccoli or a plate of veggies.’

Bleurgh.

Kirsten writes this down before telling Mum that the house’s main goal is to make sure everyone is happy. ‘Here at Rosie’s Cottage we try to offer age-appropriate activities, like bowling, or movies, or shopping,’ she says.

Bowling? How do kids like me go bowling?

I slide my eyes from Kirsten and take a better look around. What other kids visit here? Can they talk and run, like some of the other kids at my school?

Squish, clap, clench.

What if they all go shopping and bowling and leave me staring at the wall?

‘So, remind me,’ says Kirsten as she ushers Mum and me into a small office, ‘what weekend were you after?’

‘Um, well, not a whole weekend. Just any time you can spare. With Ross in hospital, I’m really not coping so well.’

Yes, you are. You’re the best mum ever.

‘It’s not that I don’t love Ava,’ Mum says. ‘I love her very much. But sometimes, at the moment, anyway, I just need, well …’

Kirsten is checking the diary, her finger tapping the pages. ‘Look, we’re already booked up three months in advance, but …’ She stops tapping for a second. ‘Given the circumstances, would an afternoon be okay?’ she says. ‘Three or four hours next weekend?’

Mum glances at me, her face tight.

Kirsten smiles. ‘How about I give you the paperwork to take away, and if you decide to go ahead, just email it back? You’ll just have to make sure all her medication is in a Webster-pak. But other than that, it’s quite straight-forward. We’ll take good care of her, I promise.’

Mum laughs a nervous laugh, before thanking Kirsten for the tour and saying she’ll think about it.

Mum lets me sit in the front seat on the way home, and she reaches to hold my hand. It’s been ages since Mum’s held my hand like this, and for a second I enjoy it. But, after a minute, my urge to clasp is too strong and I yank my hand away and squeeze it fiercely with the other.

Squish, clap, clench.

Mum concentrates on the windscreen.

My hands squish and clap faster than ever.

What if Mum prefers it when I’m at the house with Kirsten?

What if she never collects me?

That night Mum orders Thai takeaway and insists Nic eats with us at the table instead of in front of the TV. ‘We need to talk,’ she says.

‘What’s up?’ grumbles Nic.

‘Can you set the table, please?’

Nic’s texting and doesn’t look up. She’s good at playing deaf when it suits her.

‘Nicole! Knives and forks.’ Mum’s serious tonight, thumping curry onto our plates and practically cracking the china.

‘Jeez,’ says Nic, stuffing her phone in her pocket. ‘What’s the big deal? It’s only takeaway.’

Mum doesn’t realise she’s smeared red chilli sauce on her nose and forehead, and I smile. Dad would tease her about being a grot. But Dad’s not here, and my smile soon slips away.

Nic huffs loudly as she puts the glasses and water jug on the table. Then, once we’ve sat down, she looks sideways at me. ‘Well?’ she says.

‘Ava and I have found this nice respite house – a place that cares for kids with special needs, to give their families a break. They have lots of different clients and they do some really fun things.’

Nic’s pouring water and acting like she’s not listening. But she is.

‘They’ll look after Ava so you and I can catch our breath, spend time with Dad, that sort of thing. What do you think? Shall we give it a try?’

I expect Nic to throw her hands in the air with excitement. Awesome! Free time, without Ava. Surely that’s her dream come true!

Instead, Nic frowns over her plate. ‘What? Send Ava to some random house? With people she literally doesn’t even know? She’d hate that!’

Mum looks surprised. So do I.

Nic glares. ‘Ava belongs here, with us. Yeah, okay – so she’s a pain. But she’s part of our family. It’s bad enough not having Dad here.’

‘It’s only for the afternoon.’

‘No! You can’t just palm people off. Who’ll be next? Me? No, it’s a stupid idea. I don’t care if I don’t get free time.’

I smile. Yeah! Why should I go to the respite house? What if I like being home with you guys?

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Before I know it, I’m spitting chewed pieces of massaman curry, splattering yellow flecks across Mum’s blouse.

‘Ava!’

I spit harder, making Nic jump up and knock her water across the table.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Mum says, diving for a cloth hanging over the kitchen sink. ‘All good. Everyone stay calm.’

Nic pulls our plates away from the spreading water, and I see her eyes clouding with tears.

I sit and stare at the table.

I’ve ruined everything, again.