The heat of the water burned me. I wanted it to burn me. I wanted it to hurt. Fuck You All the water said, I am alive. I am alive. I am. And I will stay alive. But I knew it was no use, water, oxygen, pills, blahdeblah, all of it, none of it was any use, but maybe would I give them all more hope if I just sat with a mask on my face and stayed in Hospital and pretended to fight it? I dried my body off with a towel too fluffy to be useful, another gift from Margaret Rose, and I let it fall to the wet ground. I stood in front of the narrow shaving mirror. I thought about her advice.

I touched my damp shoulders. I felt my hot earlobes. I touched my gums, ran my finger across all of my teeth. I squirted blobs of pink body cream onto my hands and I touched my shinbones. I touched my breasts, empty and saggy. I felt between my legs. I held my head and dropped it forward. It made me dizzy. I bent my wrists and then rotated them. All these parts of me, that somehow made me, all these odd bits, that sometimes looked nice and more often didn’t, when I pieced them all together, even if I didn’t feel connected to them, they were essentially me. I breathed in as fully and as deeply as my lungs would allow, in through my nose, out again, square breaths, don’t collapse, in – hold and out – hold. Don’t cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. You are only made of air and water. You will not survive. No one will and you are OK. You have survived till now. I ran a list of all my achievements through my head. I was an OK mother. I was trying to accept this. I made Alex laugh sometimes. I didn’t have a big gang of friends, or a wild network of people. I was a dutiful daughter for the most part. Do not cry. I loved my mother. He won’t stay another night if you cry. I sponged some make-up onto my face and blended it in under my chin. I drew my eyebrows in. But nothing would stick. It was too hot. I was too wet.

Fuck achievements.

You are OK. You have definition now.

I had three little ripples where my stomach turned over on itself and standing up or lying flat made them disappear. Some wiry black hairs sprouted from my right breast.

*

I returned from the bathroom, slowly, feeling more Michael Keaton in Batman, but Alex and Molly and Margaret Rose and Michal had grouped together and they clapped. And I winked with both eyes.

‘Ah, darl, nice to see ya up,’ Molly said, leaning forward and linking me to Alex’s chair. I sat on it. Weak. Alex began brushing my hair and rough-drying it.

‘Proper boutique we have here, now,’ Jane said, looking out the window. ‘Great set-up.’