‘Esther was a very important part of Sophie’s childhood. We opened our home to her, and the fact she’s still part of our lives is a tribute to our family.’ She stood a little taller. ‘Now get yourself up, wash your face and we’ll walk down the back stairs. Thank God there are some.’

I pulled myself up to standing, as obedient as a child.

Mum shook her head with disgust. ‘And once you’ve slept off the shameful state you’re in, we’ll go back to trying to sort out the sorry chaos of your life.’

LILY

This idea – this narrative – that I didn’t care, that I humiliated and abandoned Rachel, is patent nonsense. As I said to Sophie – not that she’ll hear it now – what I was administering that terrible day was tough love. Love was the point; the toughness was a necessary byproduct. It wasn’t poison; it was medicine.

I did everything I could to take her home with us once we’d finally found a black cab that would agree to stop. Most of them took one passing glance at her and sailed straight down the Cromwell Road. No amount of cold water and expensive hand wash could disguise the wildness in her eyes or the brittle way she held her body, like she was allergic to me. As soon as some poor fool slowed his cab and the three of us were in the back, the arguing started up again like some kind of Shakespearian howl. Going home with me was the last thing she wanted; she didn’t even want me to step over the threshold of the flat. She had some drunken fantasy that I’d called her ‘disgusting’, that I’d called her ‘a slut’, and it was impossible for me to defend myself without the very real danger of our cab driver, already stealing nosy glances in the rearview mirror, dumping us on the Westway.

Instead it was Sophie who took her upstairs, giving my hand a comforting squeeze as she clambered out of the cab, her kind little face telling me how agonizing it was to be stranded between us, the two women she loved most in the world. Not that something like that would ever occur to Rachel of course. I’ll call you later, Sophie mouthed over her shoulder, and I asked the cab driver to stay put, waiting until I could see the light go on in the middle-floor window, stinging tears pouring down my cheeks.

Was that my mistake? Not treating my emotions like a game of show and tell? Instead I tried to stay strong for her: to be a parent, not an indulgent friend. What I hadn’t grasped yet was that parenthood was a job you could be fired from; it was not my primal right.