Sweet sixteen

Sweet Sixteen: Epilogue

As my birthday approaches, I look back on the past year and I'm amazed by how much your life can change in a year.

I'm no longer the naïve and gullible young girl who sat next to Dylan in the basement of Petal road. I was so smitten with him that I was blind to the truth and believed in the unbelievable.

Back then the old man's son, snuck in and snuck out of that basement and I was convinced he was the real deal, the Devil.

And so did Dylan, because not only did the man tell him that, but the voices in his head verified it.

Dill's doing great. His medication makes him a little slow, both physically and intellectually, but it helped him cope with the grief of his father's death; and it keeps the voices at bay. I say at bay, because sometimes they breakthrough and Dill will laugh out loud at some joke or other, told by a voice that has jumped through the medication and into Dill's head. But generally he's well; and it's lovely to see him and Josh re-establish their friendship in an environment of truth and transparency.

Polly's also thriving; her autism enabled her to cope well with her father's passing. Both Dill and Polly have settled into the Paddock Field flat – because Petal Road is no more.

The fire razed it to the ground, and in the process it extinguished all its secrets and ghosts. I'm happy it's no more, that house was brim full of bad Juju.

Juju, it pains me to say it, but it's all too real. Real in the sense that it's a West African practice used frequently in religious rituals, rather than a real and malevolent black magic.

The men who practiced Juju for their own nefarious needs are still being held captive by my dad in the very warehouse they used to practice their dark ceremonies.

Dad is doing good, despite his considerable upset over the loss off his best friend and ally, Donal. He continues to co-exist perfectly happily with his aged alter ego, Granny Grace. He assures me her killing has stopped, and that the murders were merely a means to protect me; something my conscious will always battle with.

I do worry about dad, the stress of being a secret jailer to the traffickers is huge and I worry he may one day crack and break. But he assures me he is strong, and is committed to keeping the men off the streets whilst he believes they're a continuing threat to innocent young girls.

The girls are all living together in a rented flat. Clara is the head of the household; she's like a mother hen, taking care of all their needs, and ensuring they assimilate into the right side of London life. She's also got a rather mammoth task on her hands, and that's to make the girls know that Josh is not Jesus; it took me long enough to convince Clara of that fact.

Clara and I have become very close friends; our experiences and knowledge have created an unbreakable bond between us. She's the sister I never had, even though she calls me her London Mother.

My mother and my maths teacher, Mr Lacey are going from strength to strength. He's a really nice man and I love to see mum being so happy at having someone to share her life with.

Since the Petal Road fire, there's been only one hiccup, which has caused me hurt. It was a few days after the fire and I was in Maccy Ds with dad, in the guise of Granny Grace, of course. Unexpectedly and to my great surprise mum came rushing in, "Hiya daughter, I was passing and saw you through the window; there's a lasagne in the fridge..." I saw her looking suspiciously at Granny Grace and I knew I had to act normal and introduce them, "Mum, this is my friend Grace, we always have a coffee in here on a Saturday."

Mum held her hand out, "Lovely to meet you Grace."

Dad took her hand weakly and muttered, "Likewise, sweetheart," without even looking up. It was a completely awkward moment that mum obviously felt because she made her excuses and left, sharpish.

When she left I asked dad if he was alright, he just shrugged and said, "I'm sorry B, I couldn't look at her." The tears in his eyes were plain to see. My heart aches for him.

That evening mum asked, "Daughter, who's the old one?"

I snapped back, "I introduced you, Grace."

Mum returned even snappier, "Well she didn't have the good grace to even look at me; the woman has no manners at all, what are you doing hanging round with an old boot like that, for Jesus' sake?"

I made an excuse and went to my room, before she had a chance to see my tears.

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And now, as the cliché' goes, I've saved the best till last: Josh.

I don't want to be all girly and gushing because I'm not that type of girl. But suffice to say Josh and I fit so well together, on every level. We both recognise that what makes a relationship work is having shared interests and spending quiet, quality time together – which is why I'm so, so looking forward to sharing my birthday with him.

Last year my birthday was spent in Dylan's basement cellar. This year I'll spend it in Josh's high-rise apartment. I'll begin my day by cooking a full English breakfast for us both. Then we'll close the curtains, light some fragranced candles and snuggle up in bed together to watch the entire Season Five of American Horror story – you can't get closer to heaven than that.