I sit there for a long time staring into space. Eventually, I throw my uneaten roll in the bin and head slowly back to work. Elliot’s not the first person to mention my “tough outer shell”, as he called it. I know I clam up when people ask me about my childhood and I tend to freeze like a possum in headlights if things get emotional. What no one realizes is how important it’s been for me to keep that barrier in place. When you’ve been through so much pain and hurt as a child, you learn the key to survival is protection. It’s the only way to continue

*

On my ninth birthday, I received an unexpected gift from my parents. They came into my bedroom early and Mum gently shook me awake.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered in my ear, her blue eyes clear and bright.

I didn’t know how to respond. Especially when I saw Dad smiling at me from the doorway.

“Come on,” he whispered, waving me towards him. Then he put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

Still half asleep, I stumbled out of bed, rubbing my eyes and staring at them both, wondering if I was still dreaming.

Mum held out my dressing gown and helped me to put it on before we trailed after Dad. Past the closed doors of my brothers’ bedrooms, past the bathroom, past the open door of my parents’ bedroom. I was reassured to see that they’d made the bed already – the corners neatly tucked, the covers smooth, the pillows symmetrical.

We crept downstairs, through the laundry and out of the back door.