‘So, basically, he’s a complete random? Some stranger she met on the internet, home to the world’s paedophiles and serial killers.’

‘He’s not a stranger. She was talking to him for weeks.’ But really, it was Yvonne talking to him, typing all those witty, flirtatious lines while sharing a chair with Emma in the library.

‘People aren’t who they say they are on the internet. He could have been anyone. Can’t believe she let him in our house. Oh,’ Bethany suddenly shouts, jabbing her fork in the direction of the TV. ‘I bloody hate this guy. He needs to get evicted.’

‘How can you keep losing so many hours of your life to this?’

‘I know. I know. It’s trash.’ She whoops as some of the TV contestants start dirty dancing with each other.

The front door opens, Emma’s home. This is it. Yvonne goes out into the hallway but Emma has already run upstairs to the loo. Yvonne waits for a minute, before returning to the living room, where Bethany explains in depth which contestant is her favourite, which one is a slag and so on.

Emma takes ages. Then finally, when she comes into the living room she sits in the armchair, rather than next to Yvonne, like she usually would.

He’s told her. Shit.

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in?’ Bethany shouts.

But Emma’s expression is far from the proud smirk she usually sports after subjecting everyone to one of her noisy sessions. ‘I’ve had the worst evening.’ She glances at the TV. ‘Oh no, not this. Why is everyone watching this?’

‘Because it’s amazing,’ Bethany says licking ketchup off her knife.

‘Emma? You okay?’

‘No. Not really. Just had a really intense session with my therapist.’

‘Can this story wait till the ad break?’ Bethany asks.

Yvonne sinks further into the sofa, ready for a long night. She had forgotten Emma had an appointment with Sympathetic Sally this afternoon.

‘Anything you need to talk about?’ Yvonne asks, because she always does and Emma is always happy to share what she worked through during her session, which most of the time is stuff about her parents. Yvonne thinks that if she went to therapy she would struggle to say anything of interest about her mum and dad other than that they were hard-working and big-hearted, but she knows she’s lucky.

‘I’m all talked out,’ Emma says.

‘Cup of tea then?’ Yvonne asks.

‘A cup of vodka? Yes, please.’

‘I’ll make you a tea.’

Emma lifts her head. ‘I need a cigarette.’