The sound of a droplet falling from the tap into the water sounds so clear, so loud. Her father lurks behind the door, waiting to detect more suffering, but the water around her ears closes her off from the real world. She feels a wave of heightened senses, like she could stay under there for ever, like she could breathe under water.

At first she does not hear her father’s knuckle rap against the bathroom door as she rocks her head from left to right in the water, her knees becoming more uncomfortable as they rest on the slate floor, a line imprinting itself into her left knee where it pushes against the grouting that joins two tiles.

He taps louder against the door, this time with four knuckles. This time calling her name. The sound is muffled as she tries to recreate the motion of the sea, swooping from side to side.

Then he screws his hand into a fist and bangs the fleshy parts heavily against the door, this time shouting her name. He is worried. He thinks she could do something stupid. Her mother is gone so he has to take care of any parental intuition.

Her head springs backwards out of the water and she takes a deep breath in.

One, two, three.

Strands of hair stick to her face and water trickles down her back and chest before hitting the floor.

‘Dad, I’m fine. My head was under the water, that’s all,’ she shouts back at him, not knowing what he said but understanding enough that he would have been worried.

He’s always worried.

He is silent for a short moment and then speaks to her again through the door in his usual moderate tone.

‘I’m off out for a bit, sweet one.’ He always calls her that. It makes her feel young again. And protected. It’s the same thing he used to call her mum. A million people probably use that phrase but it still feels like it’s theirs. ‘I just wondered whether you needed anything while I was out.’

She can’t imagine what she would ask him to pick up for her. He couldn’t choose a pair of jeans or sunglasses or products for her rigorous beauty regime. She doesn’t want to talk about how heavy her flow is right now. He could go to the bank and pay off her overdraft; he could easily do that if she asked him. He’d do anything for his sweetheart.

That’s the problem.

And she can’t ask him to do that for her.

He knows how she will answer. It was just an excuse to check in on her.

Trying to catch her out.

‘It’s fine, Daddy. Thanks. I’m going out myself, anyway,’ she calls back, picking at her face to remove the wet, tangled mess that sticks to her skin.

‘Okay. I’ll see you later for dinner then…’