‘Yeah, because it’s that’s fucking easy,’ I muttered, jerking my body away from her and curling backwards into the depths of the sofa. She crossed the room, sat back down in her seat, her calm smile never wavering.

‘And what if it is? What if the truth you think you’re telling yourself – what if it’s a lie? What if it’s a lie that isn’t even yours?’

‘What does that even mean?’ I demanded.

‘You’ve learnt something very wrong about your value – about what defines you. And I think it’s our job to trace that lie to its source and take its power away so you can stop stepping onto the stage that’s your life and acting it out. Let’s give you a whole new script to work from.’

For a second, I dared to hope. I dared to imagine living without the endless punishing monologue in my head that told me that love was for other people. That happiness was for other people – thinner, nicer people who could say no to a fourth drink. People whose families weren’t just pretty on the outside, but all the way through, like the writing through a stick of rock.

‘What does that even mean, practically speaking?’ I asked.

‘How old were you when you started believing this garbage about yourself? Do you remember?’

I thought back. Josh was so golden, so clearly Mum’s favourite. And then Sophie came along, all cute gurgles and chubby fists. And then finally – finally she arrived. By then there was no air left for me to breathe. I pushed the complicated explanations, the half-truths of my history, away.

‘I’m not sure I ever believed anything different about myself.’

Amber looked almost stricken.

‘That makes me sad, Rachel. I’m sad that being part of your family didn’t make you feel like you were a gift.’

It was as if my thoughts were subtitles that she could simply read and repeat back to me.

‘My family definitely don’t think I’m a gift right now.’ I gave a mirthless laugh. Would a baby remember, somewhere in their psyche, that their aunt was a drunken, disgusting mess at their christening?

Amber allowed a few seconds of silence.

‘Do you think that they’re a gift?’

‘I know that they love me,’ I said, measuring out the words carefully, like they were part of a complicated recipe that I’d never cooked before.

‘You say that like it’s a favour they’re doing you,’ she said, with that half smile of hers.

‘That’s not how I meant it,’ I said, even though it was. It was too soon for me to trust her with all of me. With all of us.

‘I think it’s a question that is worth you reflecting on before we next meet.’ She gave a self-deprecating shrug of her bony shoulders. ‘Sorry, presumptuous. I mean, if we meet again.’