You and your not-particularly-loving family had lived in a run-down estate in Manchester for several years now. It was a walking stereotype of a council estate. but it was home.

Despite your neighbours being dealers, and the house behind you having a lathe aggressive dog that barked non stop you managed to tolerate living here. Though, you were still embarrassed to say your address.

One day you find yourself sat outside in your garden. On the soggy, patchy ‘grass’. The smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. Watching the youngest of your multiple siblings play, your little sister Izzy, who has just turned two. She was undeniably your favourite.

You’d gotten her dressed into hand me down clothes of yours. Dungarees and a pink shirt. Her blonde hair in two tiny pigtails. Though she was your sister you’d taken it upon yourself to care for her. Which your mother didn’t seem to have any aversion to.

Suddenly, you see a boy no older than you emerge from the house next door.His clothes are torn, and his hair disheveled. Scrapes and bruises cover his muscular arms. The boy appears to be no older than you. When did he move in ?