The chances of him agreeing are admittedly slim, but what other option do I have? And after this, something that even he won’t be able to dismiss as a figment of my imagination, he will have to sit up and take note.

Once the police officers leave, placated by my fake phone call to my non-existent boyfriend who confirms he is only a couple of minutes around the corner, I take some painkillers from a drawer and a Xanax and lie on the bed, the blanket mangled around my feet.

My gaze settles on the phone on the side table, and I think for a minute about calling Si. But what message would that send, if I rang him every time I got into trouble? Anyway, it’s his birthday, I can’t drag him into this now.

With that realisation, I close my eyes. There is no one left to call.

If Maureen is surprised to find me on the doorstep of the centre the following morning, she doesn’t show it.

‘What happened to your face?’ she asks, peering at the cut just above my eye, which is swollen and red, exacerbated by the tears of the previous night.

‘Fell down the stairs,’ I say before being met by a disbelieving look.

‘No, I actually did.’

Leaving me to draw hungrily on a cigarette at the kitchen table, Maureen boils the kettle. When she turns back to me, my eyes move to the small window overlooking the garden, and the ghost of a rose bush.

‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ I say distractedly, pushing the plastic sleeve up and down the cigarette packet.

‘That’s OK,’ Maureen replies. ‘Are you all right? Other than the cut … You look …’

‘I can’t stop thinking about Jess …’ I say, suddenly unable to hold it in any longer for fear the force of it growing inside me, festering in every cell of my body, will eventually blow me open. ‘I still see her face, you know? All the time. Like she’s here. I thought that would stop after a while. Not that I’d forget but maybe I’d think about her less.’

I inhale loudly, using my sleeve to wipe at my nose, waiting for Maureen to interrupt me, but she doesn’t. ‘The thing is, though, that it just keeps getting worse. Every day, sometimes twice, sometimes more, I’ll have a moment when I see her. It could be anywhere. In the street, on a bus. And for that moment, however long it lasts, it’s like she’s here. It’s as if none of it ever happened …’

I pause, my face cracking. ‘Her face, the way she looks at me, she blames me. Still she blames me.’

Maureen walks slowly towards the table and draws out a chair. I can feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, hot and angry,