I sit on the end of my bed and pick up Mum’s diary, my body trembling. It feels like every time I get the chance to read it, Oliver calls me away for another pointless exercise session. What the hell he thinks these sessions are going to achieve, I still have no idea. My grip on the diary tightens.

I flick through the pages; I tried, earlier on in the week, to see if there was ever any mention of Noah, but I only found his name mentioned a couple of times. I return to the pages where Mum first wrote about him. At this point she was six months pregnant with me.

Chatted with Noah this afternoon about the future, for someone who’s our age he’s got such a wise head on his shoulders. He’s full of ideas for this place; Oliver’s really keen on him. They’ve been having a lot of private meetings recently, think Oliver’s keen to expand; it would be great if we could get some fresh faces here, once Grace arrives it’s going to be all hands on deck. I think if there was one person I would choose as a godfather for little Grace, it would be Noah.

My heart aches as I read the last part of her sentence. It’s the first time she’s referred to me by the name she chose for me. Mum wanted to make him my godfather. Why did he never tell me that when I had the chance to speak to him? I read back her sentence about Noah, seemingly, having such a close relationship with Oliver. What changed? There must’ve been something that happened after my family left here, had Noah, somehow been involved in helping them to escape? Perhaps he’d even been working with Ian, but why did they leave? I flick further through the book, fast forwarding a couple of weeks. There’s another entry mentioning Noah.

Noah and I had a nice chat after dinner this evening, I tried to help with the cooking, but Oliver said absolutely not and insisted I rest. I know I’ll have my hands fall when Grace arrives, but I’m getting sick of sitting around not doing anything, I need to keep myself busy, I never could just sit still, not even when I was a child. I asked Noah about his life before he came here, and he sort of, went a bit quiet on me, almost as though he was ashamed of something. He’s been so open with me about plans for the future, that he and Oliver have been discussing, but his past is the one thing he’s shut off. I know Oliver teaches us to let go of the past and focus only on the future, but it’s still an important part of our lives. I’ll try again to speak to him.

I slap the diary shut. Everyone else who I’ve spoken to here seems to think the sun shines out of Oliver’s arse. Noah was the only one, to me, who didn’t buy the bull crap he keeps spouting off about, but in this diary, it appears he and Oliver were as close as brothers.

I run my hand across the front cover of Mum’s diary and imagine her holding it again. Tears fill my eyes; I wipe them away, almost scratching the lid of my eyelid in the process.

There’s a bang which makes me jump. It must be Oliver leaving his room. I get up from my bed, still holding onto the diary and dash to the window. There’s another bang, which must be the front door of the annexe. I hold my breath. Oliver’s storming back to the house, head down, hands buried deep in his pockets. What the hell has happened now?