Mickey stood by himself and looked at the playground. Kids were playing, but he just looked on.

"Hello," said a girl.

Mickey looked at her.

"Hello," he replied.

"Don't worry," she went on, "I was new here once, you'll soon make friends. I'm Hennessy."

Hennessy stuck out her hand and Mickey took it and shook it.

"Hi, Hennessy. I'm Mickey."

Another boy came over and joined them.

"Hi, Hennessy, look at my new puffa, it's the most, it just does not compare, it is so real."

The boy strutted around like a peacock, showing off his new silver jacket, with its gorgeous deep red lining and magnetic pockets.

"Hi Squid," Hennessy said. "Yeah, it's a great jacket."

Mickey agreed. It shone and sparkled, there really was nothing as good as a new coat.

"Where did you get it?" Mickey asked.

"It's a present from my support father. He was in a real mood because my biological dad bought me a new MP-3 player and he wanted to outdo him. Suits me fine. I can't wait to see my bio dad again. He'll go nuts. Then it's hello Mr Credit Card, let's go shopping."

"I got this from my nurture mother," Hennessy said, showing the gold link necklace she was wearing. Mickey's eyes widened. It was beautiful, and really stylish, not cheap and tacky.

"It's fourteen carats," Hennessy added, then put her left wrist out, "and look, there's a matching bracelet."

"Wow!" Squid squealed. "It blings it outta here. That is totally to the limit."

Mickey couldn't understand a lot of Squid's slang, but he knew very well what he meant. The bracelet fitted Hennessy's wrist perfectly, and the light sparkled off it and brightened her eyes.

"That's nothing," Hennessy went on, "David Davidson saw all his parents during the summer holidays, he's got a PDA from his birth mother, his provision father took him to Disneyland Paris for a whole week and his recreation father got him the new Arsenal home strip and a Clock End season ticket."

Mickey was confused. How many sets of parents did this boy have?

"What's a support father?" he asked Squid.

"A support father?" Squid replied, "Haven't you got one? Does your Mum live alone then?"

"No," said Mickey, "she lives with my dad. They're married."

"What, to each other?" Squid spluttered. "What's wrong with them?"

Hennessy stepped in to explain.

"Look, Mickey, a biological parent is the one that produced the egg or the sperm, the birth mother's the one that actually did the pushing and shoving, and a support father or nurture mother is the one you live with now. I live with my bio dad and my nurture mother. My bio mother lives with my absent support father, but I only see them once a month. It's usually worth it though." Hennessy showed off the shoes she was wearing - green suede leather.

Mickey looked down at his clothes. They were alright - he'd never wanted for anything - but it would be nice to have a new pair of shoes, he thought. Maybe a pair of those new Nike trainers that had just been released.

"It must be weird only having one set of parents," Squid said.

"It's alright..." but Mickey was starting to think that it wasn't alright. He was starting to think he was the odd one out in this school, and that he was missing out. He loved his mum and dad, but it must be great to have all these others too. He looked at Squid and Hennessy.

"I've got an idea," he said.

That evening, Mickey sat quietly with his parents as they ate their dinner.

"Which one of you loves me the most?" he asked.

Mr and Mrs Mockwell looked at each other across the table.

"Er... Why, Mickey?" his Mum asked. His dad sat with a dollop of custard sliding off his spoon, his mouth had become a question mark.

"I just wondered who I'd live with if you got divorced," Mickey replied in an off-the-cuff yet well-rehearsed manner.

Mickey was putting his plan into operation.

---------x----------

"How's Codename: Divorce going, Mickey?" Hennessy asked in the middle of a maths lesson a couple of days later.

"I think it's going ok," he replied. "There's a lot of banging and crashing at the moment, and dad keeps slamming the doors and shouting at the telly."

"The throwing things is the worst bit," Hennessy advised. "That and the silences. They can really get to you. When you come down for breakfast and you know your mum and dad aren't talking to each other. That's worse than when they're shouting at each other."

"Why?"

Hennessy started doodling in the margin of her maths book.

"At least when they're shouting you know what they're thinking. When they're silent you don't know what's going on inside their heads. It's best to get that bit over with as quickly as possible."

Mickey turned back to his work. This divorce game was going to be harder than he thought.

That evening, Mickey sat between his parents at the dinner table. The atmosphere was as thick as fog and as heavy as an elephant's armour.

"Mickey, could you pass the salt, please," his mother asked.

Mickey looked at the salt cellar. It was out of his reach, right next to his dad.

"Dad, could you pass the salt, please?" Mickey said.

His father carried on chewing, then swallowed loudly.

"If your mother wants the salt she can come and get it herself. And if you want to pass it to her then I'm not passing it up to you."

He stuck a fork into a sausage and munched on it at full volume.

Mickey looked at his dad with astonishment. Maybe this was what Hennessy had told him about - the 'not-talking' phase. He sloped off his chair, wandered over to his dad and reached for the salt. Mr Mockwell moved it quickly out of Mickey's reach.

What on earth...?

Mickey shot his dad a quizzical look and walked round to the other side of the table. His dad grabbed the salt cellar and put it back where Mickey had just come from.

Rolling his eyes, Mickey chased back after the salt cellar. But his dad was too quick for him. Every time Mickey belted round one side of the table the salt cellar would go over the other side. Back and forth he'd go, round and round the table until he was out of breath.

Mickey stood there, panting. The salt cellar was opposite him, taunting him, teasing him on. Mickey made one last desperate effort, clambering up on his chair and climbing over the table. He swooped down and grabbed the cellar before his dad could move it. Success!

"Got it!" Mickey yelled.

"Get off the table!" his mother shouted.

Flipping heck! How ungrateful is that?

Mickey stared at his mother in disbelief, then edged off the table onto his chair, and over to present her with the salt cellar.

"Thank you, Mickey," she said, as Mickey returned to his seat.

"Mickey, can you pass the pepper, please," his dad requested. Mickey looked at the pepper pot. It was next to his mum's plate.

Mrs Mockwell flashed Mickey a 'don't you dare' look. Mickey looked back at his dad.

"Mickey, I'm waiting."

Mickey looked back at his mum, who swiftly picked up the pepper pot and popped it inside the front of her blouse.

Good grief, Mickey thought, here we go again.

---------x----------

Two weeks later, Mickey had had enough.

"What do you mean, I've got to go and live with my aunt and uncle in Botswana?" he demanded. "I didn't even know I had an aunt and uncle in Botswana."

"It's just until we get the divorce settled," his dad replied sympathetically. "It's all for the best, Mickey."

"No, no, no!" Mickey cried. "You can't get divorced! I'm sick of all this, I'm sick of dad stamping around throwing things and I can't take any more of mum using words that I'm not allowed to! And I don't want to have to tickle her senseless every time I have to pass the pepper pot or change channels on the telly. Please, please, please, don't get divorced!"

Mickey's eyes waved a little white flag and gushed out a waterfall of teardrops. His dad took a step forwards and put his arms around him, then his mum let out a big sigh, knelt down and hugged him tightly.

"Ok, Mickey, if you'd like us to stay together, as a family, we'll do that."

Mickey sniffed and nodded his approval.

"Thanks, mum, that's what I want, more than anything in the world. I want to be a family, just you, me and dad. I don't care how ridiculous it sounds."

Mr Mockwell held his son's head to his chest.

"That's great, Mickey. I think we'd like that too."

Mickey smiled and hugged his dad harder. Then, with a smile on his face, he went upstairs to phone Hennessy and tell her what had happened.

"Well, he won't be trying that again," winked Mr Mockwell.

"I know, but it was fun, wasn't it?" Mrs Mockwell giggled back.