I don’t have time to think about her words, because to my surprise Thea opens the door to a bedroom. A huge bed faces the door, the white covers turned back on both sides as if waiting for its occupants. I feel a tremor of concern, but I look at the bedside tables, and on one side there are Thea’s favourite magazines and on the other a couple of textbooks. This is their bed, their room.

To my relief Thea walks past the bed towards another door on the far side of the room. Maybe the doctor has another study up here. I follow, thankful that the bed is nothing to do with me and feeling slightly ashamed of my thoughts.

As we reach the door Thea grasps my hand. ‘Remember, my dear, this is about trust. It’s about freeing yourself from all those negative thoughts and drawing yourself closer to us. Go with it, Judith. Let down your guard.’

I can hear the words, but her voice sounds hollow. I turn back and glance around their room. Everything seems bigger in the centre of my vision, distorted at the edges, as if I’m looking through a fisheye lens. A huge television hangs on the wall, and its red standby light seems to wobble, moving in and out of focus. For some reason this bothers me, but I can’t think why. The drugs must be taking effect already, and I shake my head to clear it. It doesn’t work.

Thea opens the door. It’s not a study. It’s a bathroom. The walls are painted dark green, and a large claw-footed bath takes pride of place in the centre of the floor, steam rising from the surface of the scented water. Candles are positioned round the room, and I shiver as I remember the last time I was in a candlelit bathroom. For a moment I remember the feel of hands washing me as I woke up to see the water stained red. I glance at the bath but the water is clear, with only the reflection of a flickering yellow flame to mar its surface. Music is playing softly in the background. It is a classical piece that I vaguely recognise, the strings melodic and soothing.

The doctor is standing in the centre of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. He is wearing a white coat as if this is a normal medical appointment, but a pair of pale, hairless legs protrude below the hem, the flesh of his knees wrinkled as if once covered with a layer of fat that is long gone. His feet look huge, his toes misshapen.

‘Hello, Judith,’ he growls, his voice as gruff as ever. But he’s smiling, and even in my confused state that makes me uncomfortable. ‘Come in.’

I take a step forward, and I feel the reassuring presence of Thea at my back.