‘You’re not asking. Also, I should have known it was a stupid idea to send a cat for a sleepover.’ Beside Faith, Benny is roly-polying on his tummy, being tickled. ‘And I’ve promised your mum – I told her you’ve been sick with a tummy bug and I’ve been babysitting you through it, by the way. You’re off the hook for missing the bake sale.’

‘Thank you, Faith, for everything. About last night—’

‘It was Thursday night, and I’m not sure I want to talk about it.’

‘Okay. But, I am so sorry.’

‘Will you go and get in the shower now please? I’ll have a cuppa ready for when you get out. You can borrow my yoga top and pants. Come on. We’ll leave in half an hour.’

Faith is wide-eyed at the stench – or the sight, they’re equally grotesque – as we step inside my flat. She takes in the scene of ripped boxes, scattered clothes, de-railed curtains and faeces-streaked furniture.

‘Benny did all this?’

‘The shopping fell out of the cupboard on its own.’

‘He’s never so much as peed in my pot plants.’

I remind her Benny was in strange surroundings, without her, and most unwell.

‘Just so you know, you’re never borrowing him again.’

‘Believe me, Faith, I’d never ask.’

She returns from the kitchen wearing rubber gloves and carrying an assortment of cleaning products. She sprays copious amounts of air-freshener and opens the windows in the front room. Removing her high-heeled boots, Faith rolls up her skinny jeans as far as they will go. She looks like a sexy cleaner who’s about to leap into porn-star sex moves when the husband randomly comes home early while his wife is out.

Faith has a cleaner attend to her flat almost daily. In my stinky flat, with my champagne-cocaine abused body still on the mend, I have never been so grateful or felt so loved.

‘Where shall we start?’ she asks.

We clean. We spray, scrub and dispose. We get the place in order. I also call my mother to let her know I’m fit and well and to allay her fears about the situation with the flat. I assure her I’m confident everything can be smoothed over with June, after I meet the solicitor. She’s relieved to hear Faith’s with me, so she doesn’t have to send my father, who also hasn’t travelled out of Redhill in forever. She tells me she has a lemon poppyseed cake in the oven and will take it around to June’s tomorrow as an apology.

‘June’s my friend.’

‘Yes. I’m so sorry, Mummy. I promise, I’ll sort it.’

‘You’ll let me know, dear?’

‘Of course. Gotta go clean. Love you.’