‘I want to work for a charity.’ The idea comes suddenly, ignited by her conversation with the homeless man, but she means it. She wants the feel-good buzz he gave her with his ‘You should be a doctor, lady.’

‘And that’s great, but how are you going to work for a charity? Do you want to go back to college and get a qualification? Do you want to work in a shop? I can help you, I want to help you, but only if you start talking.’

‘Change is hard. The transtheoretical model of behaviour identifies it as a six-stage process. Precontemplation, contemplation, preparation, action, maintenance and termination. The pathways of our brain are formed at—’

‘Lizzie,’ Tess takes her hand, ‘forget science for a second. None of us is ever ready to reveal our secrets. Who wants to tell people about their shame and hurt? Who wants to admit the things they’ve been subjected to? It’s the twenty-first century and we women are still having to fight.’

Tess is on a roll now. Lizzie knows she’s about to be given examples of women’s suffering throughout history. She’ll start with Sylvia Pankhurst (not Emmeline, Lizzie, she only wanted votes for the middle class), then she’ll talk about Maya Angelou, eventually she’ll move on to Frankie’s story, and finish with her own. Lizzie knows this because Tess tells her the same thing all the time, like a sermon. ‘That rat, Lizzie. That rat I married.’

Lizzie sits silently through the story of the first time Frankie had her arm broken. She doesn’t fidget as Tess tells her about the time her husband cut off her clothes with a pair of scissors and locked her in the garden shed for twelve hours. When Lizzie’s tears come, they’re full of frustration and resentment, but Tess doesn’t notice. She just takes Lizzie in her arms and rocks her like a child.

‘There, there, pet. It’s okay. Let it all out.’

Lizzie, trapped and anxious, agrees to attend the group session once a week. She even offers to make some beaded bracelets with the women on film night. Friendship bracelets to buy for friends. It’s childish, but Tess smiles and rubs Lizzie’s arm, coos like a pigeon.

That Friday night, Tess lends Lenny the shelter’s iPad and Lizzie makes a nest for him in their room. ‘I’ve got to go downstairs for a bit, lovely boy. Will you be okay?’ Lenny, lost in YouTube clips of his favourite footballers, waves her away without a word, and Lizzie feels a flash of resentment. ‘I want ten facts on the origins of football when I come back,’ she warns him sternly.