‘Come a little closer,’ he urges. I move to the space next to him on the sofa, and he turns sideways to smile at me. He doesn’t often smile, and when he does, those black eyebrows rise up at the outer corners and form a deeper V, pointing down towards his nose. ‘Now, sit back and relax. This is just a chat to establish a degree of trust between us. Maybe you could start by telling me a bit about yourself – your family, friends and so on.’

I feel a faint wobble of tension. I don’t want to talk about my parents, my upbringing, the stepmother I despise. Strangely I’ve thought about my dad and his wife quite a bit in the last few days, about the argument when Pops gave me the money and how much their anger hurt me. It feels distant, though. Remote. I wonder if the doctor is trying to find out if there is anyone else I can turn to. Perhaps he thinks I have been here long enough. Somehow, I manage to stutter out the story of my dysfunctional family, avoiding his eyes. I don’t want to see pity there.

‘And friends?’

‘We moved up here to be close to my grandfather, so I could be with him for those last few months. I thought I’d make new friends here. It didn’t quite work out like that though.’

‘Judith, people travel to their jobs from every corner of the city. At the end of the day they go home to their own friends and family. It’s not the way it’s painted on TV, you know. Work is not all fun, laughter and forming new and exciting relationships.’

I think that is the longest speech I have ever heard from the doctor, who is leaning back and no longer looking at me. Sipping his brandy, his naturally vacant scowl melts into something a little more benevolent as he turns his head back towards me.

‘So what value do you think you bring to the world, Judith?’ he asks.

‘I’m sorry?’

What sort of a question is that? My brain feels muddled, and I take another sip of the sherry.

‘We all need to leave something of value behind,’ he carries on. ‘What do you hope your contribution will be?’

I have no idea. I’ve never thought of life like that. I’ve thought it was something to be endured or enjoyed – depending on the circumstances. What value am I to anybody?

‘I’m not sure I have any value,’ I find myself saying, realising I have nobody to love, nobody whose life is made better by my presence.

‘Thea tells me there’s a man involved, and that he’s making your life miserable. Is that true?’