I’m sure she must just have a headache. Getting married is stressful. She is crying. A migraine? Oh dear. She pours the entire contents of the bottle onto a little table, sits down, and stares at the pills whilst crying harder and harder.

Is she planning on taking them all?

She pours a glass of water from the jug that is on the table and pops two pills into her mouth and swallows them. Phew. But then she takes another two, and then picks up some more. She takes them and picks up a few more. I don’t have time to question myself.

‘Wait,’ I say, bursting out of the bathroom. ‘Wait, Lauren. Don’t do that.’

She looks at me briefly, but soon gets back to her pills. She picks up yet more.

‘Please leave,’ she says bluntly, putting them in her mouth. It’s only another two, I see them on her tongue. That’s about eight so far. Hopefully not enough to do any damage, but she really cannot take any more.

‘Please, stop. Don’t do that,’ I say gently. My heart is beating so fast and I’ve started shaking myself.

‘Seriously, just go. Whoever you are you shouldn’t be here for this.’

I always thought that if someone wanted to commit suicide they should be allowed to do it. If that urge to die is so strong, and life has spiralled to a point that they don’t feel they can own it anymore, let them at least have control of their own fate. But when it’s in front of you, you realise that letting it happen is impossible.

‘I can’t leave, Lauren. I’m sorry. You must not do this.’

‘Why? Who would care?’

‘A lot of people would care. Gavin?’

She stares at the pills.

‘Please leave me alone.’

‘I can’t do that, Lauren. I can’t leave this room. Whatever has happened can be fixed.’

‘You really have no idea so please, just go,’ she says. I see that she is shaking. She looks so upset.

‘Maybe I don’t, but I know you.’

I move a little closer to her.

‘You don’t know me,’ she says painfully. ‘You, like everyone else, knows a version of me and that isn’t even real.’

‘Actually, I know you better than that. I know you hate your thighs the most, and wish they were thinner. I know that you have a mole on your right arm that you wish wasn’t there. I know that you quite like your eyes, and that your left incisor slightly shades the tooth in front. I know that you like your bottom. I know that you have a tattoo of a V on your hip that you don’t want the world to see.’

She looks up at me. I’ve confused her, obviously. Possibly even scared her a little. I keep going.