Even though it’s the way I’ve always lived, I’m sick of people constantly telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. Tom’s right. I’ve always been too slow to stand up to people, and much preferred to keep everybody happy by just going with the flow. And where’s that got me? Thousands of pounds in debt with a fiancé who fucked off and left me two weeks before our wedding, in a house I can barely afford with a job I’m getting sick to death of and a family who can’t accept the one choice I’ve actually made for myself recently.

I look around at everyone else living the life they want and I’m sick of it. My friends all seem to be doing really well. They’re getting married, having kids and I’m left suffering because I’ve spent my whole life listening to them instead of myself. And even though they get to live their perfect little lives, they still whinge about it. Cath can’t help but complain about people wanting to help make her perfect white wedding even better. She’s more than happy to slag off her loved ones, who genuinely want to lend a helping hand, but the second someone calls her out on that they’re the bad guy.

Tom was wrong on one thing, though. There’s no way in hell Dad’s ever going to apologise for what he did, or even be the first one to make contact. Every ounce of his being will expect me to phone up, cap in hand, full of apologies and wanting to put it behind us. And, for a moment or two, I might just let him labour under that misapprehension.

I call the landline number for Mum and Dad’s house, and wait for an answer. After a few seconds, Dad picks up.

‘Hello?’ His voice is clear and jolly.

‘Dad. It’s me,’ I say.

‘Oh. Hello.’ He drops an octave and pushes as much disappointment through the phone line as he possibly can. Just as I expected.

‘I just wanted to give you a call after what happened yesterday,’ I reply. This is where he’s going to expect me to say sorry on behalf of Tom, to tell him I want to forget it all and move forward because it’s so much easier when everything’s nice. ‘It made me think,’ I say. ‘And I’ve come to a decision. Frankly, I’m sick of constantly being pushed around by people trying to tell me what’s best for me. There’s only one person who gets to decide that, and that’s me. I’m in charge of my own life, my own destiny, and if you’re not going to accept that and support me, that’s fine.’

Dad makes a huffing noise at the other end of the phone. ‘Well you won’t be wanting the money we put into your account each month to keep a roof over your head, then, will you?’

‘No. You’re right,’ I say, before I can even think about the words that are coming out of my mouth. ‘If you’re not going to support my decisions and accept that I’m an adult and get to decide my own future, I don’t want your money. I don’t want a penny of it. If that’s your attitude, go ahead and cancel the standing order. I’m not interested.’