She has a young woman with her who stands looking at me quizzically. She has short, spiky hair, dark at the roots, bleached blonde at the tips, and elaborate piercings in her nose and lower lip. In her oversized baseball sweater and long shorts she looks like a punky American high-school student.

‘Maggie, this is Sonia, your designated carer,’ she says, squeezing the young girl’s arm. ‘May we come in?’

‘Er, yes,’ I say, gesturing to the room. ‘Please do. Sorry I’m not dressed. I didn’t realize the time. I must have overslept.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ says Amanda as they come inside. ‘I’m just glad to hear you got a good night’s sleep. Sometimes it can be difficult when you transition from hospital to –’

She’s about to say ‘home’ but stops herself.

Sonia gives a half-smile as Amanda sets about opening the curtains and making the bed.

‘Nice to meet you, Maggie,’ she says. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea? I don’t know about you but I’m parched.’

Her accent is Scottish and it hurtles me back to childhood. My parents were from Edinburgh but they moved down south before I was born when my dad got a job at an insurance firm in the City. From then on my mother set about transforming herself from working-class Scottish girl to Home Counties clone. By the time I came along the transformation was complete but her accent would creep in from time to time, if she was excited or upset, and she would blush with the shame. I could never understand why she wanted to hide her true self. As far as I was concerned her Scottish accent was what made her special, it was genuine and warm. Yet my mother spent her entire adult life trying to be the exact opposite.

‘Maggie, do sit down,’ says Amanda, pulling out a wooden stool from beneath the kitchen counter. ‘You look a bit unsteady there.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I was just …’

‘Do you need your inhaler?’

I shake my head.

‘Right, well, let’s get your medication sorted first and then we can chat. Sonia, you’ve got Maggie’s pills, haven’t you? Why don’t you deal with that and I’ll fix the tea.’

I sit on the stool while Sonia goes to her rucksack and takes out a box of pills and a bottle of mineral water.

‘Here you are, Maggie,’ she says, popping two oblong tablets out of the foil wrapper and handing them to me.

I swallow them down with a long sip of water.

‘That’s great,’ says Sonia, smiling, as she takes the bottle from me and puts it on the counter.

‘Here,’ says Amanda, handing me a mug of tea.

I take the warm mug and hold it in my hands. The tea smells sour.