There’s pros and cons to a private ward. Like there’s no more stupid questions about my hair, or lack thereof. No snoring and no squealy brats. But I’m bored out of my mind. That and I can’t help thinking that I’ve turfed some small kid out of a bed. It’s hard to take a moral stand when you’ve got a Mum like mine.

I’m hoping she won’t find my new room. The last thing I need is her fussing. She pretty much threatened legal action when it took ages to find a space in a private room. Ah. That sounds like her now. I should have bribed the nurses more. I pretend to be asleep.

“Gemma!”

“’Lo Mum.”

“Time to wake up!”

It’s lunchtime, how lazy does she think I am? She’s got loads of shopping bags, posh cardboard and string ones. She’d better not have bought me clothes, she knows I specialize in charity shop chic. That and everything she buys me looks like it was made for someone half my age. Maybe she just went shopping to de-stress; the bags might all be full of cushions. Or handbags…

“I just bought you a few things.” She plonks all the bags on my bedside table. She holds up a vile lime green thing. “Isn’t this darling?”

“What is it?”

This is one of the many moments when she despairs of me.

“It’s a headscarf. It will make your eyes look wonderful!”

I’m more than a little skeptical. What she means is that it will cover up my heavily receding hairline. I can’t help wondering why I suddenly need to look good. There’s one obvious answer that springs to mind.

“Who’s coming to see me?”

“No one.” Pause. “Well, someone. I think you should try to look nice. I’ve bought some make-up.”

I just stare at her.

“Are you trying to whore me out?”

“Gemma! That’s a disgraceful thing to say!”

“Mum? Who’s coming?”

She’s fussing about with the makeup bags.

“You tend to over-do your eyeliner, so I’ve bought an aqua one. It compliments your skin tones…”

Okay, so she’s not telling me what’s going on. I’ll just have to assume the worst. My whole class have come with a big card? No, that’s not right…

“Is it the papers?”

Mum just shakes her head. “It’s such a shame there’s no time to do this properly…”

She hands me an asymmetric top. Is this her idea of “grown up”? Spot the generic pop tart. Then she’s prodding and stabbing at me with eyeliner and eyelash curlers. Has she forgotten the whole surgery thing?