If anything, I was in an even better mood than I had been an hour or so before when I’d sauntered out of the MDR. It wasn’t just what they’d said in the assessment meeting, it was what they hadn’t said. Not one of them had mentioned the interesting drawing I’d done in the occupational therapy session. Nobody had said a word about any of the conversations I’d had with Debbie over the previous few days.

Like they’d never happened.

That meant that she hadn’t said anything, and there could only be one reason for that, right?

Guilty as sin and she knew I knew it.

‘I’m Alice,’ I said. I stuck out a hand. ‘Al . . . whatever.’ Clare proffered her own, limp hand and I squeezed.

‘Clare.’

‘With an I or without?’

‘Like the county in Ireland.’

‘Oh, you Irish, then?’ I didn’t think I could hear an accent, but she hadn’t said much, to be fair.

‘My mum is.’

I leaned close to her. Said, ‘Listen, why don’t we grab a cup of tea and go somewhere a bit quieter for a good old natter?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ Femi said.

‘All I’m saying . . .’ I looked at the nurse, ‘I wish someone had talked to me when I first came in and yeah, I know she’s had the official spiel and all that, but she’s going to get a much better idea of how things really work in here from someone like me than from one of you lot.’ I smiled. ‘With all due respect.’

‘Sounds OK,’ Clare said. A London accent, I decided. Somewhere south of Watford Gap, anyway.

‘You make a fair point,’ Femi said. ‘I should run it past Marcus though.’

‘No sweat.’ I stood up and reached out a hand towards Clare. ‘We’ll just be in the music room, so if he’s got any problem with it, he knows where we are.’

We’d barely got our arses into chairs in the music room when Ilias came barging in. I asked if he wouldn’t mind buggering off and giving us a bit of privacy, but before he’d had a chance to open his mouth Clare burst into tears.

Ilias pointed, looking thrilled. ‘What have you done to upset her?’

I was searching around for tissues, then saw her pull one from her sleeve and bury her face in it. ‘It’s not me, you twat, it’s you.’ I walked over to him and whispered, ‘I think you just scared her a bit, that’s all. Just do me a favour and give us a bit of time on our own?’

Astonishingly, Ilias turned and walked out without saying a word, and by the time I sat down again, Clare had stopped crying.

‘You OK?’

She tucked the tissue back into her sleeve. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.