‘Are you OK for money? We’re a bit…well, you know it’s not easy with your dad, they keep changing his benefits. But I’ll pop something in the post for you, you can get yourself a new outfit for your first day!’

‘No, no, Mum, honestly. I’m fine. There’s actually a…dress code, I’m just wearing black, like I do at the bar! So I’ve got everything I need, save it. Take Dad out for a cup of tea and a cake or something.’

‘Oh, love, you are thoughtful. Me and your dad—we’re very proud of you, you know that.’ Sure.

‘I know you are, Mum.’ She is proud for both of them. Dad wouldn’t be proud of me if I appeared before him on TV in the middle of a Storage Wars marathon. I’m not entirely sure he would recognise me.

‘Anyway, love, better go. Got to get dinner on.’

‘It’s not 5 p.m. yet!’

‘You know we like to eat early. Anyway, you should go and celebrate! Go out for a drink with those girls you live with. And come home soon. We miss you!’

What can I say? ‘Love you, Mum. Love to Dad, too.’

I shouldn’t feel so low, after all this time. I should have known exactly what to expect. The cold is biting into my bones, and my knuckles ache. I ought to put my phone back in my pocket, and put my gloves back on, but I check my messages. Blue ticks indicate that Jen has listened to my squealing voice note, but she has yet to reply. That is even harder to bear. She’s probably busy. But I can only picture her sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching her mum watching the kettle, staring into space.

Putting my phone back in my bag, I feel for my keys, and start the dull, grey, windy walk home. It’s a little like planning a military defence strategy, returning to my flat. The lock gets very stiff in the winter, so I need to approach it with a running start, lifting the heavy door in the frame to tessellate everything into place. However, if I make too much noise, Downstairs Colin will come out in his dressing gown to shout at me about how I need to stop going to the toilet in the night because the gurgling pipes wake him up. (I don’t. And I would wet the bed and sleep in it every night for the rest of my life if it meant I could avoid any and all interactions with Downstairs Colin.) Holding my breath and making a wish, I shoulder-barge the door and scurry up the stairs, sprinting and leaping up the squeaky steps.