“Are you in a bit of a mood today, Jen?”

“You stink,” she hissed. “I can’t bear the stench.”

“Why thank you,” said Lubbi staring further into the vodka bottle.

“Got out of bed on the wrong side?” asked Micki.

“Stop asking fucking questions and you’ll live longer.”

“You should sit down and rest a while dear,” Nanna said cautiously. “You aren’t well.”

“You’re not my mother.”

Her friends’ care was missing the mark; just as pain causes more pain so anger causes more anger. But it was only when Kat opened her mouth that it truly backfired.

“Delirium tremens,” she said, attempting to make eye contact with the other woman.

Kat said it quietly, in a way that meant everyone could hear her, but not as loudly as if she had been directing it at anyone in particular. She wasn’t speaking to Jeanette but about her, and it sparked Jeanette into firing on all cylinders. She spat out insolent invectives that belonged to a vocabulary she didn’t normally use. Puffed out her chest and made a brutal gesture towards Kat, who involuntarily pulled herself back.

Jeanette then moved around the benches in agitation, muttering long tirades to herself. It was as if the thoughts bubbling up in her head weren’t fully thought through until they were spoken out loud. Not because they were especially meaningful—even she realised that—but she had to get rid of them somehow, they had to get out. That was why she was babbling away, stalking from bench to bin to planter. Occasionally, she would bump into someone, and shout and harry them even though they backed away without protest. This aggression was foreign to her—but right now she was in no position to stem the stream of emotions that she barely recognised as her own.

They were all on to her: Micki, Lubbi, Nanna, a young, shy lad called Jimmy, some older worn-out blokes, and even Kat. Everyone was trying to get her to sit down, to cool off, but she waved them away, whirling her arms and answering with abuse. Something got in the way—someone, because she felt the back of her hand touch a face, and she heard the shout. But she rushed on, trying to run away from the ten thousand thoughts that were tearing her head apart and gushing out of her mouth in a long and garbled flood.

Suddenly she was surrounded. They were coming at her from every direction. They looked threatening as they towered above her, and this made her even more angry. She prattled on, swearing, gesticulating, and dashing about in smaller and smaller circles. Then they got hold of her, capturing her, bending her arms against her back so that she couldn’t move and get free.

They must have planned her capture without her noticing, because right beside her was a taxi with its back doors open. She screamed and raged, tried to resist but didn’t succeed. They pushed her into the back seat—a burly bloke on either side—and slammed the doors before the car pulled away.