I dig in my pocket and hold the pale pink driving licence out to her, as though that explains everything about why I’m here. She takes it from me without a word. I’m suddenly aware of how freezing I am. Neither of us in coats and it’s so cold. Freya is in a dressing gown and pyjamas, warm from her bed, but I am cold right down to my bones.

Freya opens the door wider. ‘Why don’t you come in?’

Charlie is tiny, exhausted and cold. We are miles away from our home. Her flat is bright and open and warm. I don’t know what else to do. I feel so weak; my legs are trembling. I don’t know how long I can keep standing for. I can’t imagine climbing back down all those stairs. I’ve used the last of my energy just to make it here. What other choice do I have?

Against my better judgement – but honestly what judgement do I ever have? – I step forwards.

The warmth envelops me like a blanket. Charlie slides down from my neck and leans against me, slipping his hand into mine.

‘Come through here,’ says Freya. We follow her down a white hallway. ‘I’ll make something for you, just sit down in there.’

There is a pale yellow living room, a blue sofa. I can see through to a pretty little kitchen. It’s the strangest reversal of when Freya came to visit me. I sink onto the sofa and pull Charlie onto my lap. The cushions are so soft under us. He curls against me, bewildered, too tired to try to make sense of it. He slips his thumb into his mouth and closes his eyes. For sure, he has stopped shaking now. In the warmth, all of his muscles relax. I wrap my arms around him, like a shield. I can hear Freya in the kitchen. I am dizzy with tiredness, with all the weight I’ve lost. It takes an effort to even sit upright; it takes such an effort to hold up my head.

There are vases of flowers set all around the room. The whole place feels like some strange bower. Or a shrine.

I give in to it then. What else can I do? There’s nowhere left for me to go.

We sit across from each other on faded sofas. Charlie has fallen asleep like a dead weight in my arms. My joints ache from the effort to hold him against me. My throat is dry, my whole body feels dry, empty.

‘I didn’t want anyone to know,’ Freya says.

Somehow I manage to make myself nod. I know. ‘You were the relative who refused to get involved.’