I shook my head. ‘I accept that the pains are mostly psychological, maybe even deliberate, but that just shows how desperate and scared she is about being alone. I hate myself for even wishing I could leave.’

Steph’s voice softened. ‘She’s manipulating you into never having a relationship, hoping it will trap you there forever. Jonathan was right, it’s toxic, and I feel so angry and sad that you would let someone keep treating you like this.’

I sat back, my breakfast curdling in my stomach. Had Steph been talking to Aunty Linda behind my back?

‘I know what happened this week wasn’t okay. But she’s not been like that for ages. Most of the time we get on really well.’

‘Because most of the time you do what she wants, and you don’t try and go on dates!’

‘Do I have to move out, though?’

Steph tugged on her black curls with clenched fists. ‘That’s not the question here! Do you want to move out, now, instead of waiting for the excuse of some mystery Dream Man who might never appear?’

I scrunched my face up, eventually finding enough courage to whisper, ‘I think I do.’

‘Fan-bloomin’-tastic!’ Steph hollered. ‘At last!’

I wasn’t so ecstatic. A tear trickled miserably down my cheek.

‘What if it never happens, though? What if I never find a Dream Man to complete the list with? What if Mum’s made me incapable of having a healthy relationship?’ I blotted the tear with my jumper sleeve. I had started writing the Dream List back in sixth form. It contained twelve things I planned to do when I finally fell in love like Steph and Drew. Over time some of the list had been edited (for example, deleting the original number eight: watch the live UK tour of Glee and replacing it with a summer evening at an outdoor theatre), but it had been transferred between the back pages of all my journals for twelve years.

Steph shook her head in dismay as she ate a handful of blueberries. ‘Have I taught you nothing over the years? Why do you need a man to complete your Dream List? Why not do it on your own? By the time you’ve finished it, you’ll be so independent, and interesting and confident that there’ll be Dream Men queuing up to help you write a new one.’

I know. It’s pathetic. I was pathetic, thinking I needed someone to complete my Dream List – which was really my dream life – instead of getting on with it by myself. But twenty-nine years of a mother who baulked at the idea of doing a big supermarket shop by herself, who called 999 to avoid spending an evening alone, had conditioned me for dependence.

The thought of setting out into the unknown to tackle my dreams solo was terrifying.