There's a gang of boys on bikes blocking the road ahead. They've got their hoods up, cigarettes shielded. The sky's a really strange colour and there's hardly anyone else about. I slow right down. "What shall I do?" "Reverse," Zoey says. "They're not going to move." I wind down the window. "Oi!" I yell "Move your arses!" They turn languid, shift lazily to the edge of the road and grin as I blow kisses at them. Zoey looks stunned, "What's got into you?" "Nothing- I just haven't learned reversing yet.

Bye, Tess. haunt me if you like. I don't mind.

All I know is that I have two choices – stay wrapped in blankets and get on with dying, or get the list back together and get on with living.

Life is made up of a series of moments, each one a journey to the end.

. . . my bones they'll burn or bury. It'll be my death.

Her skin tasted expensive.

I lean back on the pillows and look at the corners of the room. When I was a kid, I always wanted to live on the ceiling - it looked so clean and uncluttered, like the top of a cake.