The rest of the morning passed slowly. Emily had been right. Every few minutes an intrusive thought would break through Tara’s concentration, distracting her from the client’s dialogue: had Dad been there for Molly’s birthdays? All of them? Had he given up drinking because of her? That one really stung. Dad didn’t care enough about her and Toby to quit drinking, but suddenly—

‘Are you listening to me?’

Chrissie Tyler smacked her hand on the table between them and Tara jumped.

Chrissie was incensed, but then she always was. ‘I can get ignored at home, you know! Yes, I’m boring! My life is shit! But I’m paying you to listen to me.’

Tara coughed. Would it help to point out that Chrissie was actually getting this counselling free? Probably not. ‘I’m sorry, Chrissie, I—’

‘Unprofessional.’ Chrissie pointed a finger over the table, then jabbed it for emphasis. ‘I’ll be speaking to your boss.’ Then she marched out before Tara could gather herself.

Tara sank back into her chair. Brilliant. She’d started to make some headway with Chrissie’s anger, and now this.

She leaned on the desk, cupping her aching eyes in the palms of her hands. Molly popped into her head instantly: the glance over her shoulder as Keith had shepherded her back to the studio, her pale heart-shaped face caught in the dying evening light. A little owl-face. Curious, sad.

I should have talked to her, thought Tara. That would be the adult, sensible thing to do. Not leave home first thing to avoid the situation altogether. Running away was what Dad did. What Toby did. Not what she and Mum had done.

But I’m not running away, she reminded herself. I’m here at work, helping people, where I’m paid to do something good for others.

But that didn’t feel right either. Neither option felt right.

So what was she supposed to do?

There was a knock on Tara’s door and she sat up, too quickly. Chrissie, back to apologize? Or Jacqueline, already here with a bollocking?

It was David. ‘Coffee?’ he asked. ‘And just to tip you off – Kasia’s put a cake in the kitchen and I swear the secret ingredient is crack cocaine, so if you want some I’d get in there fast before Bryan hoovers up the lot.’ He winked.

Just seeing David gave Tara a reassuring sense of the world shifting back on to its moral axis. He would know the right thing to do. But – she winced inwardly – she’d already told Emily. She couldn’t tell everyone. Damage limitation.

‘Come on,’ he urged, with a pretend hup-hup gesture. ‘Bryan’s got his special plate out.’

Maybe they could get some cake and sit on the fire escape and she’d find a way to ask him what to do. Tara pushed herself away from the desk and followed David to the kitchen.