We don’t speak as we leave the building, but it’s good to be in the open air after the suffocating vibe in the penthouse.

But once we’ve got past the basin and are going up Christmas Steps, I decide I do want to say something, and it’s so steep here she won’t be able to run off.

‘Casey, can I mention the elephant in the room?’

‘We’re not in a room, and I can’t see any elephants.’

‘The elephant in the room is the thing that people don’t mention, even though it’s so huge everyone knows it’s there.’

‘What are you even talking about?’

I’m about to give up when I notice beads of sweat where the fake hairline meets her forehead. She’s only wearing the bloody thing because she believes I’ll like her less if I see the real person underneath. I know how that feels.

‘Your wig’s great, Casey. But you’re every bit as lovely without it.’

She turns away to glance through a shop window. I think I hear her say the word lovely in a mocking way, but I can’t be sure. I wish I could pause the action, like we’re in a video game, and call Vijay for advice. Should I back off? We only have a few weeks together, so why make things difficult?

Except it’s not just about the wig, is it?

I stand next to her, facing the shop window, and my reflection meets hers. She looks a little like I did when I was a kid, but so much sweeter.

‘Casey, you must see how pretty you are.’

She shakes her head, scowling at herself. ‘My face is fat, from the steroids. And my hair is horrible. I used to be pretty. I didn’t even think I cared how I looked, but now I’m not pretty any more, I realize I’m vain as well as ugly.’

‘Oh, Casey. No. You are completely lovely. Inside and out.’

‘You’re only saying that to make me feel better.’

‘I do want you to feel better, yes. But I wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’re gorgeous. What could me and your mum do to help you see that?’

She breaks the gaze between our reflections. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.’

She stomps up the remaining steps, towards the hospital. Defeated, I follow her. At the very top, she turns and stares at me. And now she wrenches her wig off her head, her face defiant, almost angry, like she’s expecting me to be disgusted or to turn away.

She’s stunning. Her violet-grey eyes blaze and her lips are dark pink and pursed with contempt, like her mother’s. Her cheeks are a tiny bit puffy, but if I didn’t know about the steroids, I wouldn’t notice.

‘See?’ she says and now I hear the defiance.

I see a kid who needs honesty, but also love and reassurance. Who – despite my failures – is asking for that from me. ‘Shall I tell you what I see, Casey? I see beautiful eyes and clear skin and a heart-shaped face.’