‘We can’t carry on like this. I barely sleep. I’m just waiting for the call.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘That call. What’s wrong with you, Rachel? Why are you destroying yourself?’

‘I…’ My heart beat an insistent tattoo in my chest. I wanted to wrap words around it all – the creeping feeling of being not quite good enough that ran for cover when I drank myself happy. The other pieces, the shadows from long ago that kept me permanently wrapped in darkness. But we both knew she didn’t want to hear too much truth, so I swallowed it down, bitter medicine. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, pathetically.

Mum sank into the chair, let her head drop forward. Her blonde shoulder-length hair, highlighted by a salon so expert that their clients could go to the grave without ever experiencing a whisper of grey, framed the smooth planes of her face. It was hard to believe she was a grandmother. I don’t remember a time when people didn’t tell me how beautiful my mother was. Even at nursery school, I doubted I’d ever measure up. There’s pretty and there’s beautiful – I’m still not sure which one serves us best.

‘Sometimes when I’m lying there, waiting for the phone to ring, I wonder if it’s me. If it’s something I did – it’s always supposed to be the mother, isn’t it? But then I look at your brother and sister…’

I heard my cue, clear as a bell.

‘Of course it’s not you,’ I interrupted. ‘You’re an amazing mum. I’m just… you and Dad, you taught us to be the life and soul.’ She smiled: she couldn’t help but be flattered by that. ‘I know I’ve been behaving like I’m still in my twenties, and I know it’s time to grow up.’

‘When I was thirty-two, I’d had you and Josh, the business was taking off—’

‘I know,’ I said, interrupting again. ‘I know I haven’t ticked the boxes, okay? But I really want to change. I want to feel like a grown-up.’ It was true: every wedding invitation made me feel like even more of a loser, even though the feminist in me knew that was pathetic. ‘And it’s over now, I promise. This was the wake-up call I had to get, Mum.’

The words felt dry, lines from a play that I’d performed a hundred times, but they somehow had the desired effect. Mum abruptly stood up and leant over me, enveloping me in a hug so tight that I could only breathe in that familiar mix of Coco and expensive shampoo. I let myself sink into her, melding my body against hers. Perhaps some cellular part of us never forgets what it was like to be a single entity, nestled inside our mother’s body, their gentle cage our only hope for survival.