‘This looks bad, Pam. Don’t think you’ll be running again for a while.’ Dad looked relieved, happy because injuries meant she had no reason to go out.

Even now, with the injury long healed, he still won’t let her out, but then he has other reasons for wanting to keep her inside the flat these days. She pulls the curtains open and the room brightens, but even the sun’s glare is not enough to chase the perpetual gloom out.

Dad inspects his roll-up for life before roughly squeezing it onto a saucer. It’s from her nan’s set, cream with tiny brown corgis around the edge, once used for special occasions but now reduced to holding ash.

‘I’m going to the bookies,’ he says. ‘Will be back for dinner. We’ll heat up that corned beef.’

‘They’re fighting again,’ she says.

‘Who?’

‘Next door. Can’t you hear them?’

They stop for a moment to listen to the searing soap opera from flat forty-two that plays itself out so regularly. It sounds particularly theatrical today. What is the woman shrieking about this time? She always seems to be arguing with her teenage daughter over something. Pamela longs for that kind of relationship, one so freely volatile that you could scream and shout at a parent, rather than stand there and soak up their disappointment.

‘They been at it all morning,’ he huffs. ‘Their voices go right through me.’

Pamela tries to block out the domestic so she can focus on Dad, her own situation. She tries to assess his mood by the way he clears his throat and collects his wallet. She wonders at her chances of success and waits to pick her moment.

He looks straight at her. ‘Why you dragging those about?’ He nods towards the pair of pink and lilac trainers in her hands.

The tip of her ponytail tastes chemically; he always buys the cheapest shampoo.

‘I won’t go anywhere other than around the field. I promise.’

‘You’ve only been home a few days. You expect me to let you start running wild again?’ He holds his anger in so well, but she can see it behind his eyes, ready to pop like glass. ‘No chance. You’re staying in.’

‘You know it rained the whole month I was at Mum’s. I haven’t been out running in ages.’

He shakes his head again.

‘I want to go round the field a few times. It’s the middle of the day,’ she tries. ‘You can watch me from here.’

‘Told you. I’m going out.’ His keys jangle as he taps his pockets and walks away, her chances dissipating.

‘What about swimming? Can I go to the pool?’

He laughs. ‘Yeah, right, the pool. Why? You arranged to meet someone there, have you?’