I paused for the minutest of microseconds, waiting to hear even a hint that she was, in fact, sorry about anything other than not having everything her own way.

The last thing I heard as I pushed through the door and stumbled to my car was the sound of my mother’s wretched sobs, stabbing at my heart like a blunt knitting needle.

I spent most of the evening clutching my new daisy-embroidered pillow, while Nesbit snuffled and licked my tears away. My guilt gradually dissolved into self-pity, until, after a night of restless dreams, I dragged my duvet out to watch the sun rise. I curled up in my new garden chair staring at the trees and the birds and the sky, and I nudged that sorrow into gratitude that I was here, and not there any more, and that today was a new day, rich with endless possibilities as beautiful and magnificent as this new dawn.

I knew the best way to stop replaying my encounter with Mum, each time imagining increasingly convoluted conversations that brought me no sense of satisfaction whatsoever, was to keep pushing forwards. After a day of meetings and admin, followed by Nesbit dragging me around the woods for half an hour, I sat and pondered the Dream List, wondering which item to tackle next.

Something simple, and stress-free, given the tender state of my heart. Item one was perfect.

I decided to wait until Friday, given that I had a new reader on Wednesday to prep for, and Yasmin had insisted on meeting me in the park on Thursday for some puppy training (‘No, it isn’t fine and you can’t sort it yourself and if we wait any longer you’ll have trained him to do everything you don’t want.’)

That also gave me enough time to make sure I could create the type of evening I’d intended when I originally added it to the list. I was going to cross off item one in style.

But before then, I met with my third new reading client in the library. Jaxx was fairly typical for ReadUp. He’d left school at sixteen with no qualifications and no aspirations beyond hanging out with his mates and having a laugh. However, a few years on he’d learnt that having no money was no joke. He was bored and his parents were always on his case. It was time to grow up.

‘So, Jaxx,’ I asked, once I’d shown him to my usual table. ‘What are you hoping to get out of this?’

He shrugged. ‘I want to set up my own business.’

‘Okay, that sounds interesting. What kind of business?’

‘Like, sellin’ stuff and that.’

‘What type of stuff?’

Jaxx sat up in his chair; he held up his hands as if displaying an imaginary sign to accompany his grand announcement. ‘Nomato!’