And she could. I thought about that little island in the midst of our dinner when it was the two of us against the world, her delighting in my progress. But the truth was that it was only ever an island; it was never a continent. I kept going, nevertheless.

‘She’s never boring, like some people’s parents are. She’s funny. She sees through people.’

‘Does she?’ said Amber, her half smile telling me she heard something in my words I hadn’t intended to be there. The pesky subconscious up to its old tricks.

‘Yes,’ I said firmly. Why was I sitting here defending her, when this whole emergency appointment was about how much being with her had hurt me? ‘And she does love us. When she’s being difficult, I know it’s also because she wants to keep us safe. She can’t always control Dad…’ I faltered a little there. ‘So controlling us is second best.’

Amber’s smile was wider now, kindness in her eyes.

‘Do you think it’s possible both things are true?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s hard to accept that two things that seem to conflict can both be true. She does love you, no question, and that’s a precious thing. But what I’d ask you to reflect on is the fact that so many of your interactions with her – with both your parents – leave you feeling like this.’ Her voice rose as she warmed to her theme. ‘Fragmented, ashamed, no longer sure where your sacred ground is.’

I swallowed, a boulder sitting low in my stomach. My eyes skimmed the mantelpiece of the elegant fireplace that dominated the left side of the room. Amber had strung some fairy lights over it – tiny white hearts, bohemian and chic – and a row of Christmas cards were lined up across the marble top. This was the worst possible time of year to feel so alone.

‘All I was trying to do was make it better.’ Tears started their inexorable roll down my chapped cheeks. ‘I wish she could understand that.’

There was a long pause.

‘I don’t know if you can make it better right now,’ said Amber, almost under her breath. The silence stretched out again, a void. ‘I saw you looking at the mantelpiece. What does Christmas mean to you, Rachel?’

Her words were still worming their way around my brain. I don’t know if you can make it better.

‘Christmas? Oh, it’s great,’ I said petulantly. ‘Josh has got his 2.4 children lined up behind him in formation, Sophie’s not even just got a boyfriend now, this year she’s got a fiancé, and… I’ve got a five-grand overdraft and a profile on Tinder where I knocked three years off my age. And I won’t even be able to drink my way through it.’