I look at Sonia. She seems like a good person. A kind person. As we sit here I suddenly get the urge to unburden everything, tell this stranger every little detail of what has happened in my life to get me to this point: Ben, the bad place, my mum, me and Sean. But before I can speak, Sonia gets to her feet.

‘Come on,’ she says, holding out her hand to me. ‘Let’s get you home.’

I lie down on the bed and pull the covers tightly round me. The room smells of pasta sauce and detergent. Sonia warmed up a ready meal in the microwave for me before she left but the thought of food made me feel sick, so I threw it away and washed the bowl. But though the food has gone the smell remains.

I hear the lock being turned in next-door’s room and Hutchinson’s now-muffled voice filters through the wall.

‘Here it is, your twin bedroom. I fully understand, mate. Once you get to our age it’s separate beds all the way.’

He laughs manically and I flinch. It reminds me of that place. No privacy, raised voices coming through the walls, people everywhere, but no one I knew. Trapped. Alone.

Although I eventually escaped, the feeling of entrapment stayed with me for years. After everything that had happened, my parents couldn’t face living in the village any more so they had left Sussex and bought a small bungalow in Croydon. When I got myself straight I went to live with them and spent my early twenties working in a variety of retail jobs. From a sandwich shop in Sutton to the lingerie department of Croydon M&S, none of them lasted long and then my parents’ health deteriorated and the darkness reared its head again.

Dad died first. A heart attack when I was twenty-six. There were no big goodbyes, no dramatic last speeches like you see in the movies; he just collapsed at his desk. His boss called us but by the time we got to the hospital he was gone.