I am beginning to feel that for this person not to exist would be ludicrous!

Almost certainly my name will be Cleo - this suits me. It is not too sweet or naive, which she certainly is not.

So many memories to write about and picture, and so many people to create and lives to build. It is almost quite overwheleming and we've barely even started. But it consumes me in a good way, an exciting way, I am so attatched to this imaginary self already.


Cleo's hair is curly, and Joan clips it into old fashioned styles, which Cleo likes.

Ian teaches her to read in his office. The door bumps the bottom of her bed if you open it too far.

Her Ma is sad and tired, she laughs nervously and rubs her head. Sometimes she shouts. But then she sings too, and the singing is the best part.

I have a home and a school and a church, I have Ian and Joan, and my mother Grace. I have Shaun from school and his dad, I have Molly and Michael, Mrs Johnson and Mr Hillsborough.

And all of a sudden there is this new man...