She falls into the seat, and her head bobbles a little. She’s clearly back on her medication. Or rather she’s on something. Her pupils are a little dilated, though her hands are steady. I’m reminded of my suspicions about Xanthe’s reported fear of mirrors. She wears make-up perfectly applied, which would be impossible for her to do herself if her spectrophobia was genuine and she couldn’t look in the mirror. It’s possible someone else put it on, of course, but with her sooty lashes and gently contoured cheeks it’s another small inconsistency. This is the problem with a pathological liar: it’s impossible to know what’s true and what’s a fantasy. That doesn’t mean she isn’t unwell; it’s just hard to know precisely what she’s struggling with.

‘I’m feeling better,’ she says. She scratches at her hairline and I see a faint bruise on the inside of her wrist. No real evidence of abuse, but it’s concerning.

‘How are things with Jacob?’

‘They’re good. We’ve been better lately.’

‘And you’ve been taking your medication?’

She gives an enthusiastic nod. ‘Yeah, every day. Jacob’s been making me take it. He’s been saying it makes me more stable.’

‘How did you feel when he said that?’

‘I felt good. It means the medication is good for me. It makes me easier to be around.’ She glances about absently as if she was in the process of doing something and she’s forgotten what it was.

‘I’m glad you’re taking your medication again, Xanthe.’ Her gaze comes back to me. ‘Do you think it’s healthy that Jacob has set that as a condition of your relationship, that you are medicated?’

Lips pout, eyes roll. She’s uncertain, almost sad. ‘I think if he’s happy, I’m happy. I don’t like to upset him, you know?’

Poor thing, I think. A case study of dependence. Her happiness isn’t contingent on his happiness, only on his presence. It doesn’t sound like co-dependency, because he doesn’t appear to need her. She’s just convenient for him.

‘What happens when you upset him?’

She averts her gaze, touches her ear. ‘Well nothing, really. It’s not nice to upset the people you love.’

‘So you love him?’

‘I think I do,’ she says. ‘I must love him, right?’

‘Why?’

She looks ashamed, averts her gaze to the window, the world outside. ‘He’s all I’ve got.’

I feel like I haven’t made any progress with her in so long. She still cuts, she still lies, she still maintains unhealthy habits and relationships. Now she thinks she loves this boyfriend.

‘You don’t love someone just because you’re in a relationship, Xanthe.’

‘You have to love your family though,’ she says.

‘Your family? What do you mean? Do you see Jacob as family?’