‘I don’t know what to say, look into trains to Birmingham?’ the receptionist says, as if that is a reasonable suggestion. I need to get this done today. I will meet Maron, and try to cope. I look over to Bonnie. She is quietly eating her sweets. Sticking her finger into the bag, fishing one out, rolling it around her mouth then swallowing it, savouring every single one like it’s a bag of white truffles.

I sit next to her, take four Nurofen Plus, and wait. My heart is racing. Part rage, part fear. But I have no choice. Vera moved to Birmingham. I need to get this done.

‘Ruby?’ calls a tall blonde woman, who meets all the clichés of what a person who works in a beauty salon should look like.

‘Yes,’ I snarl, wishing I wasn’t so desperate. But knowing if I wake up like this again tomorrow I’ll smash my house to pieces.

‘Hi, I’m Maron. I’ll be taking care of you today.’ She holds out a hand for me to shake. It is soft and well-manicured. My hard, bony fingers rattle in her palm. ‘Want to follow me?’

I hate her instantly. I liked Vera. She was fat. When you live with a condition like mine, there is a lot of comfort to be had in spending time with other people who push the boundaries of what is considered attractive.

‘OK,’ I say, standing up, being brave. ‘Right, Bonnie. You wait here.’ I find an episode of Peppa Pig that I’ve downloaded onto my phone and give it to her. I leave the bag of snacks next to her, telling her she can have whatever she wants. ‘I might be a while, but I’m just in there and I’ll be right back. If the video stops, you press the triangle, OK?’

Bonnie isn’t listening to me, she is too engrossed. This feels stupid and weird and wrong. But I have to get this done today. I need it done. I follow Maron.

‘Um, excuse me,’ the receptionist calls after me. ‘You can’t leave her there.’

‘Why not? She’s fine,’ I say, knowing it’s not fine. Of course it’s not fine, I could be a couple of hours. I’m so stupid.

‘If we don’t accept responsibility for lost property, we surely don’t take responsibility for children. She’ll have to go in with you.’

That can’t happen.

‘Oh come on,’ I say, softly, knowing that she already hates me and no amount of sweet talk will help.

‘I can rearrange your appointment?’

I really need to get this done now. I can’t cope with it. I hate it. It’s making so feel horrible. I don’t want to feel this ugly. I don’t want to be this angry. But Bonnie is with me. This isn’t OK.