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“God, you can be so negative, you know that? I put the idea out into the universe.” She makes a sweeping gesture with both hands, like she’s releasing something into the air. “I visualised having enough money, and now I just need to wait for the universe to manifest a solution.”

I stare at her, trying to decide if she’s joking. “You’re having me on, right?”

“It’s called manifestation!” she says, as if that explains everything. “You focus on what you want—the money, or whatever—and then opportunities show up.”

I rake a hand through my hair and let out a sharp laugh. “Jesus. Your brother’s right: you do need to grow up. You really thought the universe was going to pay me?”

Her cheeks flare rosy pink. “I’m serious!” she claims, though there’s a slight wobble in her voice now. “It works for loads of people. I read this book⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit what book you read!” My words bounce off the walls, louder than I intended. But it’s all pouring out now: the stress, the humiliation of losing my job, the way everyone always assumes the worst of me. “This is my livelihood. I’m trying to set myself up as a self-employed tradesman. I need actual money, not your fucking universe magic!”

She steps back as if I’ve slapped her, but I press on before guilt can soften me.

“How am I supposed to keep working for you when I don’t even know if you’ll pay me? You said you wanted to help me clear my name, but it turns out you’re not helping at all. You’re just . . . using me.”

“That’s not true!” The tremor in her voice almost breaks me, but not quite. “You’re getting this all wrong. I really do want to help you.”

“Right,” I scoff. “Just like you ‘helped’ me last night by chasing off the woman I was chatting to.”

Cat’s chin juts out stubbornly. “That was different. I was⁠—”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it.”

I move back into the hallway and head for the door, feeling like a right idiot. I actually opened up to her today—told her about my maw, about wishing at the clootie well as a bairn. I never tell people that stuff. Never. And this is why. People can’t be trusted.

“Robbie, please!” Cat follows me, her voice softening. “I’m sorry. I should have been upfront about the money. But I promise I’ll sort it out.”

I open the door then pause. For a second, I’m tempted to believe her. But no, I’ve been let down too many times before.

“Save it. I’ll swing by tomorrow for my tools. After that, you’re on your own.”

I pull the door shut behind me, cutting off whatever she was going to say next.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ROBBIE

Age eight

The rain hammers against the window like it’s trying to get in. I press my nose to the cold glass, watching puddles grow in the garden where me and Johnny were meant to be playing today.

“Get away from there, Robbie! You’ll leave smudges all over the glass.” Maw’s voice makes me jump. She’s sprawled across the sofa, painting her nails bright red, a glossy magazine balanced on her knees.

I shuffle away from the window. “But I’m bored.”

“Find something quiet to do then. And keep your brother out of trouble.” She doesn’t even look up.

Johnny sits cross-legged on the carpet, his wee face scrunched up as he tries to fit puzzle pieces together. He’s only four—four years younger than me—which means I’m supposed to be the “responsible one”. That’s what Maw always says.

“Want to play a game, Johnny?” I crouch beside him.

His face lights up. “Yes! Ball game?”

I glance at Maw, who’s still focused on her nails. “Let’s go in the hallway. More space there.”

Johnny follows me, giggling with excitement, and I fetch the soft indoor ball from under the stairs. The hallway isn’t big, but it’s long enough that we can stand at opposite ends.

“Ready?” I ask, and Johnny nods, bouncing on his toes.