And later that afternoon, Daddy sets the sprinklers up all over the lawn. The sun is slanting in the sky now and there’s a breeze. Prin does her cartwheels and she’s quite sure her legs are straight. She only has to believe it, and it’s true! She and Jane jump through the sprinklers, just as planned.

There are rainbows caught in every single one.

Chapter 21

It feels like months, years even, that I have been away from work. When I check the dates, though, it’s only been a little over a week. I don’t have any clean tights; I haven’t washed any since the last day I was in the office. I spend all Sunday evening sorting myself out.

On Monday morning, when I pack my handbag, I put my inhaler inside just in case. I haven’t needed to do that in ages – nearly a year, probably – but now I just feel better having it with me. I know the medicine in it isn’t real; these symptoms are psychosomatic, nothing more than my body remembering things that I’ve been unable to come to terms with, expressing feelings I’m trying too hard to submerge. But to my mind, having the inhaler helps; with it, I can convince myself that when I feel the tightness in my lungs, it’s nothing more than a winter flare-up, one that will settle down soon.

When I pull on my work clothes – a simple blouse, plain black trousers – the waistband is ridiculously loose. In the back of my wardrobe, I find a belt. With that clipped tight, you can’t see the extra inches.

In the bathroom, I put on even more make-up than usual. Powder and blusher as well as foundation, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, the lot. I blow-dry my hair until my scalp burns, then wrap it into a glistening bun. Heels this time, instead of my ankle boots and a tight hold on that thick black line I’ve drawn in my head.

I practise a smile in the bathroom mirror. I’ve even remembered to clean my teeth.

On the walk down Brixton Hill, though, despite the blue sky and golden sun, I can’t shake the sense of a façade; I can’t shake the sense of something crouched darkly behind it. I jump at car horns, feel clawed at by the wind. But I keep my chin up so no one would know.

When I enter my old familiar office, Emma is there, same as always, tucked in at her desk.

‘Hey!’ she says. ‘Really good to see you! Listen, can I get you some tea?’

Because to Emma, tea is the answer for everything.

I nod, because it’s easiest, but at the same time I’m asking the same thing I’m asking about every single person in my life now, those few people that there are – was it her? Did she send that message?