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296 pages, Paperback
First published August 30, 2014




I heard a gigantic tear as my jumper ripped and I splashed down face first. I swallowed jam down. I sneezed jam out. I was choking. I'd be a laughing stock. A crappy statistic. Emily Heath. Choked to death in a giant vat of gooseberries. Like that writer Tennessee Williams. He met his end choking on the cap to his eyedrop bottle as he was putting in his drops. Or those two people who died last year from Foreign Bodies in their oesophogus. I was sure it was nothing like the girl at school ever had to contend with, the Swim Champ. I was treading water in a pool of hot jam while a rotating whisk was carving up my belly and sides.
'I hadn't seen them coming, Dead Body and her friends.'
'Blood is seeping from his nose, which reminds me of something Mum's new husband Stevie once said, how his family's jam factory was bombed in the war. How the house down the road were smeared in jelly, dead bodies covered in marmalade, everything buried in strawberry jam.'
'"I might ask a lot of questions, but you don't ask any."
"What should I be asking?" he said.
"Whatever you want."
He nodded, processing. Finally, he asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"That's your first question?" I said.
He was amused to see me squirm.'
"Fifty-three minutes in and my list was pretty full in all of the ways that Jack wasn't normal, the ways he was special, so very bloody different from everyone else. I had to admit it - despite my fierce reservations - I liked him all the more for it."



