‘But I need to get over it. I never wanted them. I never did. I actually got divorced because I never wanted them – did me a favour there, right enough. But still. I’m not the mothering kind. I’m just not. This doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Never mind all that. This is a physical trauma. It’s happening to your body, which is flooding you with hormones, and they’re unleashing all these emotions. You just need to let it happen for now. Get yourself somewhere safe for tonight – I overheard you say you’re going to visit your mother?’

The woman snorted. ‘She’ll be no use. She’s possibly the last person anyone would ever want to turn to in this situation. Ha! With such a fucking – sorry – shining example of glorious motherhood it’s no wonder I didnay want kids, eh. It’s not even her actual birthday – that was last week. She doesn’t let me take her out on her actual birthday because she’s always got plans with her husband and his people. And we have to meet in a big town away from where she actually lives because she’s ashamed of me. She tells me as much. Every time. Yeah, that’s going to be a real balm for the soul.’

Ida thought for a second.

‘Do you know what I would do? Put her off for a night. Sometimes, I like to check myself into a hotel. One of the big ones, run by a big company. Maybe one with a spa. Somewhere where nobody knows you, and there are people on call to bring you what you want and call you Miss whatever-your-name-is. They give you a clean, lovely room with a door that locks behind you and a big dressing gown to put on. And you make that room yours, for a night, make it into whatever you want it to be. You’d need to spend a bit of money, mind you.’

The woman followed her eyeline, over the ripped jeans, shabby rucksack, chipped nail polish, and managed a bit more of a smile.

‘I’ve never really agreed with that sort of place.’

‘You’ve never been to one, then. You pick up a phone – it’ll probably be someone from Poland or some place like that, because nobody British works in hotels any more it seems – and you tell them that you want steak and chips, maybe, and a glass of sherry. Whatever you fancy. And it comes to your door. And you can eat it on a big bed, or in a bubble bath. The whole point about these places is that they’re anonymous and nobody asks any questions. These people are actually paid to serve you – you don’t even have to thank them.’ You could probably even swear at them if you like, seeing as it comes so naturally to you, she thought and didn’t say.