I nod, and rub my stomach, which is fizzing. This is strangely without drama, and for that reason is making me uneasy. She tells me to go to floor 3, room number 36.

I climb the threadbare stairwell, which looks like it’s seen a lot of traffic. A musty smell climbs into my mouth, coating my tongue. It’s weirdly silent. I push the door open and the first thing I notice is the window, which looks out onto a car park where there’s a car below, belching black fumes. Here’s my room with a view! There’s a sink in the corner and a bed, of course. A light is hanging from the centre of the ceiling, with a cream Homestore and More shade, shaped liked a hat. Where are my chandeliers? There’s a bedside table in heavy fake wood, and when I pull open the drawer I see it’s crammed with condoms. I sit on the bed, which doesn’t make a sound. I couldn’t bear if it squeaked. When I lie back, I roll into the groove in the middle.

I go to the sink, wash my hands in the antiseptic green slime and throw some cold water on my face, checking myself out in the mirror on the wall above. When I yank the pulley cord, the light that explodes is mega wattage, throwing a harsh fluorescence on my face. I don’t think I’d want to be looking in this too often, although it’s probably handy for putting on the war paint. Wugawuga. I stick my tongue out and see that it’s all furry and coated in white slime, so I do what I used to see Mother do after a hard night: I take out my toothbrush and scrape it down.

I walk back downstairs and go into the kitchen, where the grub, a ready-meal chicken curry, pale and anaemic looking, is sitting beside the microwave, with instructions laid out to heat on high for three minutes. The kitchen is nothing special: just some lino on the floor and white plastic cupboards and cheap worktops, pretty similar to the one at home. I pour a glass of tap water and swallow slowly. It’s still fairly raw in there. I cut the dried-out chicken into tiny pieces and blow, and chew and chew. It goes down ok. I listen to my stomach’s gurgles, hoping to fuck none of it comes back up. After a while of sitting, staring at nothing, I walk to the door the woman showed me and knock.

‘Come in.’

She’s sitting at a desk with a foolscap pad in front of her.