Once upon a time, if I had come across Dad and his group, and answered his three questions, like I just did, would he have let me join them?

Of course. I mean, I wouldn’t have mentioned the secret bit. Cos, duh. Secret. But lying through omission aside, I would have been in. He would see that I have mad skillz and I am virtually morally incorruptible.

You already know I don’t think that last bit is true. You know, the part where two teen girls, trained in the art of killing, get stupid over a baby animal and one of the said girls has to be stabbed, through the brain, with a barbeque implement by her best friend.

But the morality of this new world is shady at best and dad gets that, more than anyone. We don’t get about raping and pillaging, but in the old world, I am pretty sure every one of us would have been locked up for life.

Anyway. The coping part. I supposed I sound glib. But these are just my words, not my heart. I am a bit of a mess. Dad was so freakin’ angry – at me, in general. He loved Hayley too. It got so bad I started sleeping in my bedroom. I usually like to fall asleep with the noise and light of my family around me, but I couldn’t do it. Dad’s silent rage and sadness filled the space it fought with my guilt and grief, and I thought the windows would bust outwards with the pressure of it.

I am not proud to say that there was some undignified behavior on my part. I wanted a knock ‘em down, drag ‘em out fight but Dad wasn’t having a bar of it. He diffuses situations. At least with Dep – he indulges me. When I was little he would find me in a pissy mood, so he’d give me a kick in the butt and then it would all be on; him wetting himself laughing while a rabid eight year old in pigtails tried to get a piece of him. When I hit puberty  he discovered he valued his life more than riling me up.

Yeah. In those first few days we could have brought the house crashing down with the weight of it all. And then there was the burial.