But it wasn’t just the puzzle of the situation that was sucking her in. Spending a few hours lost in someone else’s life would also be very welcome, giving her mind a chance, however fleeting, to break free from the horrible loop that played constantly in her head – guilt, fear, recrimination, grief and then back to guilt.

On her brighter days, Pip could convince herself that it hadn’t all been destroyed, that the world she had painstakingly built for herself before the accident was still there, just waiting for her to step back into it. All she had to do was get well enough to pick up where she had left off.

If only it were as simple as that.

Her parents, delighted though they had been to welcome her back to the farm, didn’t seem to understand why she had had to leave London in the first place. She had tried more than once to explain it to her mother, who, whilst sympathetic, struggled to follow.

‘I had a panic attack, Mum,’ she told her, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. ‘Well, I had loads of them, but I had a really big one at work.’

‘But surely they should have made allowances for you, Pip, after what happened.’

Nobody would say the words, Pip noticed. The fact that she had killed a child was so washed in euphemism that it came out if not clean, then certainly less bloodstained.

‘They’d already made plenty of allowances, Mum, but I let them all down. I collapsed in the middle of the Supreme Court with everyone watching me. I didn’t even know my own name. They couldn’t let me carry on working after that. They have their reputation to think of, and mine.’

‘But that wasn’t your fault,’ said her mother indignantly. ‘You were ill.’

Pip suspected that her mother had read that panic attacks were a symptom of mental illness and whilst she struggled with the concept, was determined to embrace it for her daughter’s sake.

‘But that doesn’t make any difference, Mum. Clients pay a lot of money for me to act for them. If I can’t do that without breaking down and making a show of myself, then they just won’t give me any more work.’

Her mother nodded as if she could understand this. ‘That doesn’t seem fair,’ she added. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She was quiet for a moment or two and then, twisting the tea towel she was holding in her hands, she said, ‘Can I ask you something personal?’

Pip nodded, worried about what was coming but unable to come up with a reason to avoid it.

‘What does it feel like?’ her mother asked. ‘Having a panic attack, I mean. I’ve tried to imagine it, but I can’t, not really.’

Pip didn’t want to have to explain in case the mere description triggered one, but it had clearly cost her mother a lot to ask her.

She took a deep breath. ‘It’s horrible, Mum. I feel completely out of control, and you know how much I hate that.’