After snagging a window seat with ‘Jan loves cock’ etched in the glass, I watched the other humans, wondering what it was like to be them, not me. And I thought how much Mum would have liked it. Riding a London bus. We always took the bus at home. Smirking, as we telepathically knew we’d both clocked specific people, then talking about them once we’d got off.

Until that day.

When she thought she saw the green suede of his jacket swagger down the street.

Banged her hands against the window. Pushed the people out of the way to get to the exit. Pressing each bell she passed, again and again and again. How the driver wouldn’t stop. And the passengers tutted and cussed until silenced by her screams.

From that day she only looked outwards. Quiet. Watchful. Searching.

I’d arrived only twenty minutes late, though Linda wasn’t quite as impressed with my achievement.

‘Thank you for joining us, Constance. How’s the foot?’

‘It’s like I’m walking on a hundred tiny razor blades. But you know . . . I didn’t want to let you down.’

‘Right . . . Well, thank you.’ She resumed the pretence of reading a document.

‘Hi, Constance.’ Alison waved at me like an overexcited child, sunkissed from her mountain climb. My heart sank. She’d have so much to tell me.

Cranking up the limp, I walked around reception to my seat, surprised by the scent of a new white orchid on the front desk. Why does everything remain the same, day in, day out, but if you’re away for even a short space of time, things are different? Or perhaps we don’t notice change when we’re part of it. I never noticed the change within me.

‘So, what do I need to know?’ I asked Linda.

‘Nothing, really. Dr Harris is in his office. Dr Short is on a house call. Mr Copeland is just waiting to have some blood tests with the nurse. Dr Stevens has a couple of patients booked in, but then he’s off to the Harley Street practice. Alison’s working on this report for . . .’

I tried to appear as if I was still listening, but her words became noiseless and my insides twisted.

When her mouth stopped moving, I said, ‘Why is Dr Stevens going to Harley Street?’

‘Don’t ask me. It’s not my job to know why . . . So you need to go into this file Alison’s working on, then join her in adding all the—’

‘Sorry, Linda. I . . . I need the toilet . . . Sorry.’

When passing your room, a woman with a crusty-nosed child exited. She smiled. I somehow managed to return a warped version, then continued down the corridor with the full intent of going to the ladies’. But I stopped, turned and limped back towards your door.