She guessed right; Beth has a suite, not a bedroom. A sprawling master with super-king-size bed, layered with velvet throws and silk cushions. An en suite, tiled from floor to ceiling in cream limestone, with an enormous shower and wide double basin. And a walk-in dressing room with fitted wardrobes running the length of each side. A mix of emotions tingles on Kat’s skin as she takes it all in. Fear, excitement and hope, all fighting for dominance. She runs her hands over the different materials, the cool tiles and soft bed linen, then eventually steps into the dressing area and slides open the left-hand wardrobe.

It’s Beth’s. Kat isn’t surprised to find every item of clothing hanging neatly: jackets, dresses, skirts, blouses and an assortment of jeans, ordered according to their cut, colour and wash. The bottom of Beth’s wardrobe is dedicated to footwear. On the left, there’s a wall of designer shoeboxes, like a scene from Sex in the City. On the right, there are about ten pairs of boots lined up in height order from knee length to ankle. They are all regimentally straight, except for one single boot that sits slightly askew. Kat frowns. She’s never cared that her own flat is a blur of mismatched angles, but seeing Beth’s boot out of sync feels wrong. She leans in to straighten it and notices the sparkle of foil glistening from inside.

Kat pulls out a strip of pills and reads the name. Diazepam is a powerful sedative – she knows because she was given it herself during her first week at the unit. She burrows her fingers further into the boot and discovers seven more strips. Without the packaging, she can’t tell how long ago the pills were prescribed, but the collection suggests it’s not a recent thing. And here, hidden away. She thinks back to when she knew Beth as a teenager, and the traumatic way their friendship ended. Has Beth been hiding her anxiety all this time?

Shame lurches inside her. And her head spins with too many memories.