Aoife is asking me about my weekend when the door opens and Nurse Catherine walks in. She’s wearing a black woollen dress and flat grey ankle boots. Catherine always ties her hair back off her bony, shiny face. There are no uniforms here. There’s no need for them. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the patients are. Pain is carved all over our faces, in our gait, our tortured smiles. We’re the ones walking with sagging shoulders, darting eyes. Nervous, looking for signs, waiting for the world to collapse.

Catherine hands me a little plastic cup with the yellow lid like she does every Monday morning. If it turns out that she discovers alcohol in my pee, my weekend pass will be revoked and I certainly don’t want that to happen. She pushes open the door to the bathroom that I share with Aoife.

‘When you’re ready,’ she says, but she doesn’t mean this. It’s not when I’m ready. It’s now, or I fail.

I take the cup and walk into the room, closing the door behind me. I can hear her chatting away to Aoife while searching my bag. So many things are forbidden that it’s hard to remember at times. Face wipes. I can’t imagine being so desperate for alcohol that I’d suck on a face wipe. But I guess they’re covering all corners. Or so they think.

I stand up onto the toilet seat and reach into the small air vent at the top of the wall, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag full of urine. I hid it there last thing before leaving here on Friday. Then I place the bag and the plastic cup on the radiator before pulling my knickers down.

Catherine knocks on the door.

‘Give me a minute, it’s not that fucking easy to piss on demand,’ I shout out to her. I’ve developed quite a vulgar tone since coming here. It’s either a last line of defence or a show of resilience. Whichever, it gives me a sense of control.

I press my hand down on the bag. That should be warm enough now. I take the lid off the cup and open the corner of the bag, carefully pouring the contents into the cup while peeing into the toilet bowl. Then I tighten the lid of the cup, pull up my knickers, wash the plastic bag out and wash my hands. I stick the empty bag back into the air vent before opening the door and handing the cup to Catherine. This is the third week in a row I’ve managed to complete the trick flawlessly. I could be a circus act.