How does he know my name? The way he says it, without demands or threats – the first time I have ever really heard anyone, apart from Luce, say my name in that way – softens something inside. There is kindness in his voice, and something real. I almost break and I almost tell him everything, but Mother’s voice mingles with his, drowning his out. Her private ranting and her public sweetness. Her loving me, and her hating me, her obsession with my body. Who’s the liar then? I have never been believed before. Brian’s voice chimes in: ‘C’mon, Samaanthaa … you know you want to, a dirty little slut like you … Good girl, you know I was only lying. Have some of this, it’ll make you feel better … I love you, you know that’. A hardness builds up in me again, and I feel the wall whoosh back up, and it’s cool to know no one can climb over it. Barricaded and secure.

‘Your friend Lucy is very concerned about you.’

Ah, so that’s how he knows who I am; the bloodhound tracked me down through Doc O’D’s impressive connections.

‘That girl is a compulsive liar, she has a major crush on me, and wants to control me in some way,’ vomits out of my mouth.

‘I didn’t get the sense this was the case.’

‘Is it protocol to speak to members outside the family?’

He tells me in a calm, contained voice – as if he were speaking to a dog full of fear-aggression, about to bite – that my friend is very concerned, she thinks there may be abuse at home, and that I might be in a very vulnerable situation if no one steps in. She spoke to one of the nurses in confidence. Good ole Luce.

‘I’m grand. Do I look like the vulnerable type to you?’

‘With tubes in your arms, lying in this hospital bed, yes, I’m afraid you do.’

Does he think that’s funny? ‘There is no problem at home,’ I repeat, almost convincing myself this is the truth. I turn my face to the wall. ‘I’m tired now. I want to sleep.’

The man doesn’t leave for quite some time, just sits there making scratching sounds with his pen, like a little mouse scurrying between two floors.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to tell me?’

‘Not up to talking right now.’

‘Your parents have been informed you’re here. Would you like someone to be present when they come?’

This might be the perfect opportunity to thrash some things out. Surely these trained counsellor dudes would see through her act. I’m just about to say yes when the deranged voice speaks through me in a harsh, biting tone, ‘Can you tell that girl Lucy that I never want to see her again.’