"That was Billie, with the title track off her latest album: 'Invisible Giant Insects That Live Under My Bed And Watch Me While I Sleep'."

  It was full dark by the time Amy sent a message off. She turned down the radio until it was just the sound of wipers squeaking across the windscreen. Fee could taste aluminium foil in the air. She found a narrow lane off Leicester Square lined with Eastern businesses and took a spot under the neon Kanji signs. After a ten minute wait, the VW Beetle slowly crept toward the kerb, while glittering lights danced on the rain-soaked pavement.

  "The Queen in yellow," Amy said, opening the passenger door. "Good movie?

  "Good movie? Aren't you the least bit freaked out by this?"

  "I've been doing all I can not to freak out. Let's start off simple. "

  "Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Fee said, sliding into the seat. ”I mean, it didn’t make sense, but it was good”

  “Didn’t make sense?”

  “I don’t want to spoil it.”

  “As long as you had fun,” Amy said, peeling away from the kerb.

  From the inside, hail sounded like churning gravel. The two of them sat in silence, while the car threaded through dark, mirrored streets feeding into Piccadilly Circus. There was a good reason Amy avoided London at night; the novelty of being a wide-eyed tourist had worn off a long time ago. All that remained were a bunch of old buildings and the impossible gridlock. Not even her love of Dean Street could tempt her back; the hellish parking was nowhere near worth it. Navigating a few more roads, she peered out at another set of traffic lights, near the statue of Anteros. A cascade of liquid light dazzled in a garish Kaleidoscope of burnt neon, with the eternal spectre of rolling news. Flashing bulbs danced in colourful strips, reflecting and sliding across the car's contours. 'The only thing worth fighting for' by Lera Lynn played on a late-night drive-time show, while Fee silently mouthed the lyrics. A mood had settled, thick with portent. It felt like a suffocating cloud snatching their words, and leaving them unable to process anything real.

  Fee never mentioned the garden party; it would have only made things worse. There was no point in offloading more concern on what was already a trying day. Her mother had been through enough as it was. Amy Scheckter had lost her real name a long time ago. A new one had been chosen for her before she reached America. Everything else came with a suitcase full of money and a fake passport. The catch was she could never return to her native country. Never see her old family. This was the one rule she had to live by; the one that kept her outside of a prison. A high street slid by with iron shutters covered in graffiti. Across the road, in a closed laundrette, Fee caught sight of someone staring back with wide, maniacal eyes. The man was smiling with all the same intensity as the Tuxedo guy and quickly bowed in deference. Amy didn’t see anything, she was too busy staring at an advertising board for beds with the tag line: 'Go tuck yourself.'

  Speeding out of London, they finally hit a stretch of motorway. Fee could tell they were close to home by the number of city signs blacked out in spray paint. For some reason, they were not taking the usual exit.

  "Where are we going?" Fee asked.

  "It's still your birthday, so we're celebrating."

  "What if I don't feel like it?"

  "I never said there were options."

  ***

  After half an hour, Amy swung the car into the entrance of a retail park. One of the signs was for 'Haribe', with its cartoon lobster circled in red.

  "Seafood?" Fee said. "You know I'm a conscientious objector."

  "You wanna stage a hunger strike? There are better places to do it."

  Amy slid her car into a bay and pulled the handbrake with a loud crank. She gave her daughter a reassuring pat on the knee before the pair exited and stretched.

  Fee looked up into the pitch dark, speckled with dull stars no longer twinkling. She paused, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated.

  “I can taste purple.” She said.

  “Don’t eat the purple,” Amy replied, slipping a ticket on the windscreen. She took Fee’s arm and they headed for the restaurant.

  On the way, they both noticed an old sports car from the Eighties.

  "Check it out, a DeLorean," Amy said. "The Anime pillow of cars. You know why you bought it; we know why you bought it. "

  "Back to the future."

  "Yep, the car went the way of the mullet. Both of which died a death, because they were embarrassing. Not even the power of nostalgia can bring them back." She let out a derisive laugh. "Nostalgia, what a load of crap."

  'Haribe's Seafood and Grill' was a brightly lit diner surrounded by white walls adorned with moody monochromatic photographs featuring deep-sea fishing. The main centrepiece was a glass tank filled with crawling, black lobsters. A row of banquettes was lined down the right with blue-check tablecloths and neatly stowed menus. Waiting staff scurried around in turquoise uniforms, wiping down tables. After settling on a booth near the entrance, Amy checked her phone.

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  "You're getting the usual, " she said. "Fish and Chips and Rocky Road for dessert."

  "I'm not five, mum."

  "Thank God,” Amy said. “You'd be doing cartwheels and what the hell is that?" She gestured to the brown leather wrapped around her daughter’s forearm.

  "Ah, yeah,” Fee said, pulling back her sleeve to reveal a studded leather brace. “I figured I would need some protection, using the help of Power Metal.” She closed her eyes and made a fist.

  Amy's gaze flickered onto a dead channel.

  “Yeah, I can see it really made an impact.”

  Fee exhaled deeply and looked down.

  . “I nearly died today.” She said, quietly.

  “Well…obviously.”

  The girl frowned. “Seriously?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Amy said. “You could have taken those bullies apart, but chose not to.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” ,

  “Funny how your fan club didn’t get the memo.”

  “What’s a memo?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Amy said. “Punishing yourself will not bring the Boys back, so enough already. You pull that shit again, I will punch you so hard, your ghost will die.”

  “Yes, mum,” Fee said, shifting in her seat. "Thanks again for saving me."

  "Eh, it was either that or watch Friends."

  "Yeah...we all have priorities."

  “Damn straight," Amy said, chuckling.

  Fee glanced over at the other tables. "I still haven't seen that show."

  "You're not missing much. It has a weird hang-up about fat people."

  "Well, it was a different time,”.

  "It was the Nineties, not ancient Rome. What do I always say?"

  “Never walk in front of a Bus or behind a Horse.”

  “I meant the other thing.”

  "No preacher worth their salt lives in a mansion?"

  "No dear, I’m talking about nostalgia," Amy said.

  "Listing a bunch of old stuff is not nostalgia. It’s just a list."

  "Exactly."

  "Some people take comfort in it, before the world went to hell."

  “Well, there's that."

  "This is why aliens stay away." Fee said. "They know we're the Meth lab of the galaxy."

  "At least we know there's intelligent life."

  Fee turned over a foam cup and tapped it on the table.

  “Humanity was not meant for the stars; we outgrew our programming; became its virus.”

  “Careful with that edge, dear,” Amy said, watching her daughter cut out the base.

  "In the end, we’re just Ants living under a highway,” Fee continued. “We don’t see the bridge; only the surrounding grass and will know of nothing else.” She peered through the hollowed-out cup. "No one cares.”

  "There are plans to move to Mars," Amy said. "Maybe we'll do better."

  "That's like moving house after crapping on the carpet. How does that help? Nothing matters anyway, once Aliens invade, we’re screwed.”

  "What do you suggest we do?"

  Fee took a breath.

  "Forget the reproducing or recycling,” She said. “Ride this 'Tilt-a-Whirl' to extinction. In time we won't even be a memory, just a cave painting about creatures who pissed in the river"

  “Tilt-a-Whirl?"

  "From theme parks. I like saying it."

  "Humanities end? That's the answer?"

  Fee shrugged.

  "We had a good run." She said, "Adults are popping out kids, for what? It's too late; everything's gone to hell. There's nothing here but dust and debt." She looked out toward the barren car park. "We are a future the older generations left with nothing."

  “Except smartphones for ten-year-olds.”

  Fee laughed mirthlessly. “Oh yeah, have fun raising Zombie kids.”

  A beat.

  "Yeah, you should get the Rocky Road," Amy said.

  "Sweet."

  "Look, have fun while you can. That's all I ask."

  "When I find the time."

  "That time is now, Fee. Go hiking, go abroad, make mistakes, have adventures. You'll regret missing out."

  "You don't know my life," Fee said quietly.

  Amy sat back in her seat with her arms folded.

  "I know you walk home from school, because taking the bus makes you feel alone, even in a crowd. I know you are angry at the world and disappointed in authority figures. I know you wish you could scream away your pain, but you think no one will care. I know, because you are me."

  "You've just described every teenager."

  "Exactly, we all go through it," Amy said.

  "Even you?"

  "Once. Maybe I'm still one at heart."

  "Oh God," Fee said. "You're not one of those 'my daughter's my best friend' kind of Mums?"

  "Oh, hell no," Amy said, biting the end of a breadstick. "You do not want me as a best friend."

  After fifteen minutes of further small talk, their meals arrived.

  Despite her reservations, Fee ordered a large cod and sweet potato fries, while Amy chose a crab Risotto with garlic bread for starters. They ate in near-silence with an occasional comment about the food. Amy wanted Fee to be comfortable enough to open up, but thanks to the incident in London, her daughter was more withdrawn than usual. To ease the tension, she regaled her daughter with stories about how she met her father, Pickford Green, who had been employed as Amy's new Boxing manager. Amy recalled how she laughed when he told her his name. For some reason, 'Pickford Green' reminded her of an 'abandoned railway station'; now she could not think of anything else. Pickford did not take mockery well and was mostly aloof for the first month until she caught him jamming on the guitar one day. Music was the first thing to bring them together. Soon, they discussed bands and went for drinks after every training session. Amy wistfully told how he made all her aggression evaporate. All the defences that guarded her from the world melted away in his presence. Fee mentioned how Rick made her feel the same. Amy told her about not rushing into things because they could, which Fee recognised as being 'The Talk' without actually mentioning 'The Talk', because when it came to advice on growing pains, her mother had all the sensitivity and tact of a rampaging Honey-Badger By the time they got around to dessert, they were laughing about how they both found love at the workplace, the atmosphere had mellowed and when the cake arrived, it finally felt like a birthday dinner. Leaving the restaurant, a cold breeze picked up. Fee rubbed her arms as she looked at the coal black infinite sky.

  "It's like the stars know this world is rotten and they're backing away in disgust."

  "That's not how stars work, dear," Amy said, checking her phone.

  "It's a point of view."

  "Yeah, well any more of that Emo crap and you're taking the bus."

  Fee smiled and suddenly collapsed, trembling like a newborn fawn testing the stability of its legs. Rushing to her side, Amy could not stem the years of pent-up anguish pouring forth in desperate sobs, which had unearthed roots sunk deep in misery and sorrow. Desperately alone, there was no sound but for the howl of a girl feeling her world crumble away.