Just when I was about to give up, I saw the Volvo on the street outside. Taylor’s mum waved and smiled. I waved back at her but I didn’t smile because I wanted her to know how sad I was. I thought it was strange that Taylor hadn’t walked there by herself, it isn’t far. She took ages to get out of the car and, when she finally did, she didn’t look like herself. She’s had her hair cut into a bob, so now we don’t look the same any more.

The playground is for little kids really, so there are bars all the way round the outside to keep them in, to keep them safe. Taylor came and stood on the other side of the bars, so it looked a bit like she was visiting me in jail. It felt strange at first, not easy and comfortable like before. I told Taylor I was moving and she said that she knew that and did a funny shrug of her shoulders. Then she said that she had heard her parents say that Dad had been fired for stealing. I told her that wasn’t true and explained that Dad left his job to look after Mum; I’m not sure she believed me. I said maybe we could talk on the swings instead of through the bars and she came round.

I asked her about school and she said I hadn’t missed much before the end of term. It seemed really difficult to talk to her and I felt like she didn’t understand how terrible it was that I had to move house, so I cried a little bit on purpose. She was much nicer after that, like the old Taylor even though she looked different. I asked her if she’d been OK at school without me and she shook her head. She took off her coat and rolled up the sleeve of her jumper. There were two round red scars on her arm. I asked who did it to her but she wouldn’t tell me. I asked if I could touch it and she nodded. I was very careful, feeling the smooth skin on her arm and then circling the inflamed red craters in a figure of eight. I told her I was sorry I wasn’t there to stop it from happening. When I took my finger away, she pulled her sleeve back down and put her coat back on. I knew that was her way of saying she didn’t want to talk about it any more.

She stood up and walked off and I was scared I had upset her and that she was leaving but she didn’t. She stopped at the roundabout and lay down inside one of its quarters. She looked silly so I laughed. Then I ran over and started to push as fast as I could, running alongside, and she started to laugh too. When the roundabout wouldn’t go any faster, I jumped on and lay down in the opposite quarter to Taylor. We were both still laughing and I reached my hands up to touch hers through the bars. We held on to each other, laughing and spinning until I was dizzy, but I didn’t care. I wish we could have stayed like that for ever.

Later, when we had stopped spinning but were still lying there, Taylor told me this funny story about her friend Jo. She said Jo was really good at going to new places and meeting new people, that she was brilliant at listening and keeping secrets. I started to feel a bit jealous of Jo, I think that as Taylor and I are the best of friends, she shouldn’t really need anyone else. I didn’t like the sound of Jo much at all actually, until Taylor told me that she wasn’t real, she was an imaginary friend. I laughed so much. She said I could borrow Jo when I moved if I wanted, that Jo would keep me company when I was scared or lonely and that I’d always have a friend wherever I went. I told her I didn’t need any other friends so long as I had her but it was like she didn’t hear me. She said Jo could come home with me for the night, just to see if we could be friends too. I said no thanks. Taylor got all weird then and said that Jo was sitting on one of the empty swings and not to hurt her feelings. I looked over at the swings. There was nobody there. I started to think Taylor was a nut job, but when it was time to go home I agreed that Jo could come with me, just to keep Taylor happy. Jo is here in my room now, watching me write my diary. She’s got blonde hair and blue jeans and we like all the same stuff. She keeps whispering things in my ear. I don’t know whether we’re going to be friends or not yet, but she can hang around for now.

Now

New Year’s Eve, 2016

Paul leaves my room and I wait for Claire to say something. Even if she doesn’t believe I can hear her, I know she won’t be able to resist.

‘Thirty-five years old and you’re still making up stories about your imaginary friend? Seriously?’ Her laugh is unkind. ‘I suppose the real question is who have you really been with when you’ve been telling Paul you’re with Jo?’

The door opens and I’m so grateful for the interruption.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ says Edward.

My sense of relief dies instantly.

‘You must think I’m crazy, sitting here talking to myself,’ says Claire.

‘You might be crazy, but you’re not talking to yourself, you’re talking to your sister. It’s good to talk to coma patients. Good for them and good for you.’

‘I don’t think we’ve met before. How did you know I was her sister?’ asks Claire. She’s got him, Claire can see through anyone.

‘You look like sisters,’ says Edward. ‘I just need to . . .’

‘Of course. Doctor . . .?’

‘Clarke.’

I thought he told Paul he was a porter.

I listen for a while, as my captor and sister make polite conversation. She doesn’t like him, I can tell by her tone. I try to hold on to the shapes of the words, no matter how mundane. Their voices become quieter, as though someone is turning the volume of my world down until I can barely hear anything at all. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it’s coming. The silence always chooses me back because I chose it first.