‘Thank you,’ Catherine says before asking me if I had a nice weekend. It’s important I remain positive if I’m going to appear like I’m making progress so I say, ‘Yes, lovely, nothing too exciting.’

‘Did you watch I’m a Celebrity?’ she says, causing a glitch to appear in my confidence but thankfully Aoife butts in, commenting on the latest goings-on and surreptitiously updating me in the process. My week in here is spent watching I’m a Celeb on the TV at night. If I didn’t have an up-to-date comment ready, alarm bells might ring. Catherine might say, so what were you doing if you didn’t watch it? Were you out? You know you’re not supposed to be out after ten o’clock when you’re on weekend release. Then I’d have to make up some story about a visit from my sister or a headache that sent me to bed early and I’d be nervous because I’d know she was on to me. They’re very smart in here. Just not as smart as me.

Catherine eventually walks out of the room with the cup in her hand and I’m left to unpack the fresh clothes my mother ironed with the precision of a brain surgeon. I know she’s nervous. Mam finds it hard to deal with someone like me. Someone not quite right. My brother and sister gave them no trouble – a fact my father regularly imparts to me.

‘Faye Connolly.’ The door opens and Fionn, one of the counsellors, calls my name.

‘Here.’

‘Consultation room four in ten minutes.’

The file where I keep all my notes and questions and progress, if any, is in the drawer of the desk that stands at the end of my bed. When I have my clothes put away, I take the file and walk to the door. Aoife is writing in her notebook. She lifts her head and smiles at me as I leave the room. Walking down the corridor my body grows heavier. When I reach the door of consultation room number four, I take a deep breath and push it open. And so it begins. The quest for answers. Why is Faye Connolly an alcoholic?

Chapter Fifty-Three

Sometimes I think I’m never going to get out of this place. That my life will be spent explaining myself. What I did, what I didn’t do. Why I did it. Why I didn’t do it. It’s all just an attempt to unravel the mystery of my twisted mind. My misdemeanours. Why do I not care about myself anymore? Why do I hurt the people who love me? Intelligence doesn’t help. That just means there are more wires to unravel. More things to go wrong.