Despite the circles that she mixed with in that time, she chose my father because he could see no fault in her. She was perfectly beautiful. And then they had me and I was an appealing child, and she and I were all his. He disappeared to work on a Monday and when he reappeared on a Friday he’d shout, ‘I’m home!’ And his face would light up at the sight of us and he’d stretch his arms wide and we’d run into them – we, his girls, his beautiful girls. As a result, I spent my early childhood feeling totally loved and totally secure.

If I was a reflection of her, the perfect mirror to begin with, it began to warp and distort as I grew up, like a funhouse in a fairground. It didn’t reflect what she wanted. She didn’t want me to be myself if it meant thinking differently from the way she did. She had needs and expectations that I didn’t know how to fulfil. Her anger frightened me. I made choices based on what I believed her choices would be, which was as useless as second-guessing a quiz in a magazine. She was vocal in her disappointment. I’d sit frozen in my lovely clothes, letting her anger flood over me, enduring it, waiting for it to burn itself out.

If I were a different person, it wouldn’t happen to me.

It wouldn’t happen to me if I transformed myself into someone else.

That’s the whole story of my early years.

I drift back to the present.

Alexandra Booth is talking about my experience with the dog and my instinct to run away from it, which may be a result of my fear of my mother’s criticism, which has made me hypersensitive to threat. ‘But you might also find that you’re more sensitive to other people’s feelings,’ she remarks, crossing one leg over the other. ‘You may be more attuned than most to other people’s needs and consequently, they’ll be drawn to your empathy. Some people are like orchids and some are like dandelions,’ she says.’

It’s a consoling thought. ‘So it’s not all bad?’

‘Not by any means. And I want you to remember that dogs bark because that’s what dogs do,’ she’s saying. ‘And you’ll find, knowing this, that you don’t mind it.’

I let my thoughts drift to a shaggy brown dog on a pink lead and David Westwood in a pink floral shirt standing with my suitcase on Chalk Farm Road.

‘In fact, it makes you feel warm and friendly.’

She counts me back to the present and I open my eyes and look around the oatmeal room.

‘How do you feel?’

How do I feel? ‘I’m not sure,’ I say truthfully. ‘I suppose I’ll have to test it out before I know whether or not it’s worked.’