‘I was a mess when I got here, Fran. Worse than a mess. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure I was having a breakdown. I checked myself into a hotel and I … I didn’t unpack. I didn’t put on the TV. I drew the curtains and got into bed and I didn’t get out for days other than to drink water or use the toilet. I’d run from Gozo because I wanted to escape but I couldn’t escape from what was in here.’ She places a hand on the side of her head. ‘I was depressed. I didn’t want to eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.’ She runs a hand over her hair, remembering the prickle of her shaved head. ‘I cried and cried. I’d never felt so alone. I had Damian’s phone and I could have reached out to someone but there was nothing anyone could have said that would have made things better. I just wanted to … to … to not be here anymore.’

‘Oh Jenna,’ Fran says softly and the compassion in her voice makes Jenna want to cry.

‘Eventually, I had to get up because I was so hungry that my stomach hurt. I went out in Damian’s baseball cap and the clothes I’d been wearing for days and I was scared. I thought people would look at me and laugh. I scurried into a shop and I grabbed … god knows what … I paid and I left. When I got back to the room I burst into tears. I ate some of the food and got straight back into bed. Damian kept sending me texts, asking me to let him know I was still alive.’

‘You never told him how you were feeling?’

‘No. He’d already done so much and I … I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to put all that on him. I knew he was suffering too. He’d watched two people die.’

She peels back the curtain, watching as an elderly woman makes her way down the street, leaning heavily on a cane. She sees the same woman every day, creeping down the street then creeping back with a grocery bag.