I recognise Santangelo's dad, who saves police brutality for when he gets to his son.

Oh God, Frankie, I breathe in rhythm with that man. You think that's not my flesh and blood after all these years?

Taylor Markham," said Raffaela, "I'm going to say a prayer for you." And although I wanted to mock her and explain I didn't believe in anything or anyone, I realised that no one had ever prayed for me before. So I let her.

They either don't get it or don't want to. Maybe I'm just not selling it well.

But it was definitely a car trailing me and quickly I prepared myself for a great dash. I began quickening my step and when it stopped alongside me I could stand it no longer. "My father's a cop and he'll kill you," I screeched without looking. "No, he's a barrister," I heard Michael Andretti say in a calm voice, "and he'll kill you if you don't get into this car.

Why do I feel like something's missing in my life without them and they don't feel the same about me?

I don't say anything and he casually leans against my desk, picking up the novel that's sitting there. "It's bullshit," he tells me, flicking through it. "There's no such thing as Atticus Finch." I shrug. "It'd be nice if there was, though.