MAUREEN

I didn't like it that they were making me sound tight. It wasn't anything to do with money. I needed one night so I paid for one night. And then someone else would have to pay, but I wouldn't be around to know.

They didn't understand, I could tell. I mean, they could understand that I was unhappy. But they couldn't understand the logic of it. The way they looked at it was this: if I died, Matty would be put in a home somewhere. So why didn't I just put him in a home and not die? What would the difference be? But that just goes to show that they didn't understand me, or Matty, or Father Anthony, or anyone at the church. No one I know thinks that way.

These people, though, Martin and JJ and Jess, they're different from anyone I know. They're more like the people on television, the people in EastEnders and the other programmes where people know what to say straightaway. I'm not saying they're bad. I'm saying they're different. They wouldn't worry so much about Matty if he was their son. They don't have the same sense of duty. They don't have the church. They'd just say, 'What's the difference?' and leave it at that, and maybe they're right, but they're not me, and I didn't know how to tell them that.

They're not me, but I wish I was them. Maybe not them, exactly, because they're not so happy either. But I wish I was one of those people, the people who know what to say, the people who can't see the difference. Because it seems to me that you have more chance of being able to live a life you can stand if you're like that.

So I didn't know what to say when Martin asked me if I really wanted to die. The obvious answer was, Yes, yes, of course I do, you fool, that's why I've climbed all these stairs, that's why I've been telling a boy - dear God, a man - who can't hear me all about a New Year's Eve party that I'd made up. But there's another answer, too, isn't there? And the other answer is, No, of course I don't, you fool. Please stop me. Please help me. Please make me into the kind of person who wants to live, the kind of person who has a bit missing, maybe. The kind of person who would be able to say, I am entitled to something more than this. Not much more; just something that would have been enough, instead of not quite enough. Because that's why I was up there - there wasn't quite enough to stop me.

'Well?' said Martin. 'Are you prepared to wait until tomorrow night?'

'What will I tell the people in the home?'

'Have you got the phone number?'

'It's too late to call them.'

'There'll be somebody on duty. Give me the number.' He pulled one of those tiny little mobile telephones out of his pocket and turned it on. It started ringing, and he pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. He was listening to a message, I suppose.

'Someone loves you,' said Jess, but he ignored her.