My leg hurts the whole way home as the TV box digs into it. I mention this to my parents but it doesn’t seem to faze them.
“Just don’t let it tip,â€? is the response I get.

I reassure Mum for the hundredth time that I “adoreâ€? her new house, finding it hard not to mention that I hate her moving here and living on her own. As always, I keep my mouth shut, as it would kill her to know this upsets me.

Jetlag gets the best of me and I have to lie down. The sheets are brand new and stick to my sides, itchy against my skin. I want to complain but I’m already asleep.

I wake when the sun is hanging lazily in the sky. It’s still hot. I curse the fact we have yet to get air-con and turn the fan on as high as it goes. It wobbles precariously above my head, moments away from detaching itself from the roof, but it beats the heat.

I hear noise downstairs and then the boom of my uncle’s voice, calling me. I descend into the kitchen, where I meet with my aunt and uncle.