Mum read it twice

Mum read it twice. That's the one I keep circling. Not the podcast, not the anonymous quote — mum read the sentence twice at breakfast and asked if it was about me, and I did the face. The no-comment face. Same one I do when a heckler lands something. Same one I did at fifteen when someone at school said my da wasn't coming back. It works on rooms, on crowds, on your sister. It does not work on your mam and she knew it and I knew she knew it and we ate breakfast.

She hummed after. The kettle thing. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say the joke was the only way I knew how to hold it and I'd do it differently if I could go back. I ate toast instead.

Debs rang a lawyer before I'd finished my tea. That's her. Fights the thing while I perform the soup-eating. I love her for it and resent her for it in equal measure and will say neither.

No show tonight. Texted Kate — the costume's off, love. I think I meant: I am not the version of me that goes on stage tonight. He stayed in Edinburgh. I walked home.

Sandra at the Pleasance knew. Asked if I was alright, mate, in the way you ask when you already know. New rule: never do a venue where the duty manager reads the trades.