‘Hi, Cathy, it’s Des. Yeah, not too bad. Listen, I’ve got a Maggie Allan here at the desk. She’d like to speak to you if you’re free. I don’t know. I could ask … Are you sure? All right then, Cathy, see you in a sec.’

He puts the receiver down and the ghost of a smile flitters across his face.

‘She’ll be with you shortly,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you go and sit over there?’ He points behind my head. I turn and see a small waiting area. I thank him then make my way over to it.

When I sit down, tiny silver stars dance in front of my eyes. The anxiety is still as sharp as it was. I took the first of my anti-depressant pills an hour ago, but Julia told me it would be at least a couple of days before they start to take effect. I wipe my forehead. It is damp and clammy.

‘Mrs Allan?’

I look up and see DS Grayling standing over me. She looks different to the last time I saw her. She’s had honey-coloured lowlights put in her hair and she’s wearing pale-pink lipstick. It makes her look softer.

‘Hello,’ she says, extending her hand. ‘My colleague said you wanted to see me.’

‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I had some questions and you said at the hospital I could get in touch if I needed to …’

‘That’s fine. Listen, why don’t we go somewhere a bit quieter?’ she says, perhaps sensing that I’m starting to ramble. ‘There’s a free room along the corridor. It’s just this way.’

I follow her past the glass reception desk and into the corridor. The walls are covered with posters proclaiming: ‘See it. Say it. Sorted.’ The words run through my head like a stuck record as DS Grayling ushers me into the room and closes the door behind us. See it. Say it. Sorted. If only life were that simple.

‘Do take a seat,’ she says, pointing to one of two plastic chairs that are tucked in facing each other on either side of the brown table. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’

‘No thank you,’ I say as I take my seat. ‘I’m feeling a bit hot actually.’

‘Water then,’ says Grayling, and she walks over to the large plastic water dispenser that sits by the window like some bloated sea creature. She pours me a drink and comes back to the table.

‘Here you go,’ she says, putting the plastic cup down in front of me.

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a long sip. The water is icy cold and makes my teeth tingle.

‘So when were you discharged?’ she asks, folding her hands in front of her.

‘Monday.’

‘Okay,’ she says, nodding her head. ‘And how are you feeling?’