I can’t get an image out of my head of me lying squished under him, reciting his Our Father; I’d much rather be squashed by the traffic any day. If he comes too close I’ll bite, scream, hit, tear him apart with my teeth. I wouldn’t let his greasy head anywhere near me. I’m getting all worked up inside. ‘Control yourself,’ Mother used to say as she’d stand over me during some outburst, knowing that those very words would make me want to bust a gut.

The traffic crawls along as I try to tune out his monologue. ‘Is there anyone you’d like me to call? Do your parents know where you are? I sense the need in your life for guidance, a big black hole in the centre of you where all sorts of evil could worm its way.’ Twisted-ass mind, got a pretzel for a brain. Eminem provides the perfect soundtrack. These non beats and angry lyrics do much more to soothe me than any classical baloney. Dad likes his Bach, his Mendelssohn, his Mozart. The sound of that soaring screeching makes my head clang and my teeth sing.

‘Are you ok back there?’

‘Unlock these doors and let me out now. I have your licence number. I’ll report you for harassing a minor. Let me out, you perv.’ Maybe I have gone a little overboard now.

‘Cool it, kid,’ he says, which makes my insides boil. I can feel my cheeks puff up, and I bet they’re purple. I start to wave at people in cars beside me but can’t find the button to wind down the window. This car is like a coffin. I continue to bang on the glass.

‘Stop that right now,’ he says. ‘I’m pulling in as soon as I can.’ He starts to weave his way through the traffic, horns blaring. I might just cause a pile-up, for real, this time. ‘Twenty-two euros,’ he says, as he pulls in to the side of the street.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. After what you’ve just put me through?’ The doors are still locked. ‘Unlock these doors.’

‘Not until you pay me what you owe me.’

I throw three tens at him. ‘Keep the change, asshole.’

The doors unlock. He leans out the window. ‘Are you sure it’s not St Pat’s you’re looking for?’

Oh funny guy. The central mental hospital was often used as a threat between Mother and me – she said she’d end up in there, as a result of me.

‘I’ll pray for you,’ he shouts out the window.