‘Fine, thanks.’ I keep my tone bright. ‘Actually, I’ve been feeling a lot better recently.’

I’m deliberately paving the way for the message that I’m reclaiming my independence guerrilla-style.

‘You do seem so much better.’ Sasha delivers her supportive narrative. ‘It’s almost as if your relapse never happened.’

‘I think so too.’ I nod thoughtfully, with an air of gosh-we’ve-both-come-to-the-same-conclusion-so-it-must-be-true.

‘It happened all right.’ Carol readjusts her sunglasses and bleached-blond top knot. ‘Visits me in my nightmares, that day. My little sister, taken so young – nature can be so cruel.’

‘I’m not dead, Carol. If you’re going to milk this one, how about not doing it with the person who went through it? You were nothing more than an irritating spectator.’

‘Alex, don’t speak to your sister like that,’ my mother hisses quietly at me. ‘Carol’s gone out of her way to support you these last few months. The least you can do is be a bit grateful.’

I’m about to suggest that Carol’s support is about as welcome as a battered turd in a haggis supper, when I realise I need to stay focused on my original goal for today.

‘Sure, whatever. Sorry, Carol. Thank you for being there for me when I was unwell.’ I flash her a semi-sincere smile, which Carol seems a little too satisfied with.

‘The main thing is that you’re doing so much better.’ Sasha prompts me back on track. ‘Which we’re all so pleased about.’

‘Exactly. It’s almost—’

‘As if it never happened.’ My mother cuts me off. ‘Yes, we heard that, Alex. Now, are you going to share whatever it is you’ve brought us here for today?’

I quickly take a mouthful of my smoked mackerel salad, knowing I won’t get a chance to enjoy my food once I’ve stepped across enemy lines. ‘Right, yes. How do I put this… Probably best to be frank. I’ve got a new job and I’m moving to Birmingham.’

‘That’ll do it, all right,’ I hear John mutter under his breath as my mother’s fork clatters onto her side plate.

I stifle an involuntary snigger as Carol’s head snaps towards me so fast her sunglasses escape their perch and land in her duck liver parfait.

‘What a way to deliver a message like that,’ she sneers, and turns to my mother, who’s now an interesting shade of Tippex and uncharacteristically silent. ‘Mum, are you OK? Don’t listen to Alex. She’s not serious, it’s just her way of digesting this change in her life. Once everything settles down—’

‘Oh, I’m serious, Carol. I’m moving to Birmingham – in a month.’

My mother finally comes to, but she’s clearly dazed. ‘In a month? Alex, what are you talking about? You’re—’

‘I’m what?’ I stare at her defiantly. ‘Broken? Damaged goods? An invalid?’

‘Darling, please don’t be so melodramatic.’ My mother tuts at me, her usual air of superiority returning, along with the colour to her cheeks. ‘You’re none of those things. But you do need support.’

‘Yeah, you need us, little sis.’ Carol joins in the lecturing. ‘We’re in this together – for the long haul.’