‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘Nothing makes much sense to me, really. I don’t know why I feel like this all the time.’ She looked down into her coffee like I might have piped the answer into the froth, her face desolate. I looked at her, willing her to look back at me, but she seemed to have forgotten that I was even there.

‘It’s okay not to know why you feel this way,’ said Amber after a pause. ‘I think it’s okay to just know that right now it’s confusing. And that you’re finding the confusion painful.’

And then Rachel began to sob – big, honking sobs that blindsided me. It was so loud and messy – it was almost as if she was exploding. I stood, grabbing for a box of tissues, but she waved me away without even looking at me, a single hand emerging from the chaos of her tears. She wiped at her wet face with a sleeve, her sobs reaching a crescendo. I looked down at my child, her face still hidden in the bunched-up sweatshirt fabric, and felt a sense of utter uselessness. I thought about ignoring her or marching across the room and wrapping my arms around her shaking body, but I didn’t know if she’d throw me off or shout at me. I couldn’t risk the humiliation.

I sank backwards, reluctantly grateful for Amber’s air of studied calm. She leaned across the sofa, took the tissues from me, touching my hand for a second as she did so, a tiny caress. My breathing slowed, my aloneness less total. Almost simultaneously, Rachel’s sobs started to lessen. Amber moved further down the sofa towards her.

‘Would you like one of these?’ she asked her gently.

Rachel gave a barely perceptible nod. Amber pulled out a handful from the box, putting them directly into her wet grasp, and laid a hand on her forearm.

‘Is it okay that I’m touching you?’ she said. ‘I thought you might need a bit of contact to help bring you back into the room.’

Rachel nodded again, mopping at her raw face.

‘Darling…’ I said, but then I ran aground.

‘I’m okay, Mum,’ she muttered.

‘Yes, you are!’ said Amber. ‘You’re in touch with your emotions. You’re not numb, or dead inside. Your feelings are close to the surface, longing for permission to express themselves. And you just did that. You just gave them that permission. You should be really proud of yourself.’

I felt a flood of relief: was that what it was – not a breakdown, but a catharsis? Was that all she needed? Rachel looked up and gave her a shy, watery smile.

‘Thanks, Amber,’ she said.