Amanda slams the boot shut and I fold my arms across my chest protectively as she comes towards me. She’s holding a large carrier bag with the name of a discount shop on it.

‘As I said, it’s nothing fancy,’ says Amanda. ‘But it will set you up for now until you get yourself sorted.’

I look down at the clothes I’m wearing. A pair of ill-fitting polyester trousers, a sky-blue hooded sweatshirt with the words ‘LA Living’ printed across the chest and a pair of black plimsolls. All courtesy of Claire, who had raided the hospital lost-property room for me.

‘Right, let’s get you inside,’ says Amanda, putting her arm round me.

I nod my head. My mouth has gone dry and my legs feel leaden. It’s like I’m fourteen years old again. I shudder as the memory of that time resurfaces: the smell of antiseptic, the walls that felt like they were closing in on me, the horror of knowing that my fate was in someone else’s hands. And now it’s happening again.

I grip Amanda’s hand as we walk up the short path that leads from the street to the front door. There are two stone lions on either side of the door. One of them has a chipped nose.

‘Quite nice, isn’t it?’ says Amanda as she raps three times on the door.

I don’t have a chance to answer because at that moment the door opens and a thin man with ginger hair and a blotchy face stands in front of us.

‘Mr Hutchinson?’ says Amanda, extending her hand. ‘I’m Amanda Jones from Lewes Housing Support Service. This is Maggie Allan.’

The man sighs and nods his head.

‘You’d better come in,’ he says, looking at me like something he’s just trodden in. ‘And please wipe your feet.’

We follow him into a circular hallway. It’s clean, pleasant even, though the air stinks of cooking fat mixed with cheap air freshener. I scrape my trainers against the brittle entrance mat. Amanda removes her sandals.

‘It’s through here,’ mutters Mr Hutchinson, pointing at a door to the left of the staircase. ‘You said she couldn’t do stairs.’

‘That’s right,’ says Amanda, smiling warmly at me. ‘Mrs Allan has just been discharged from hospital and is still quite fragile. She was in a coma for almost ten weeks.’

The man looks me up and down then shrugs.

‘As I told your colleagues, I don’t normally do DSS,’ he says. ‘You sure she’s not going to be any trouble?’