‘I can hear myself,’ I added hurriedly. ‘I know how young she was. I know it’s unfair of me, and he’s the shit-bag cheater. But…’

‘You’re allowed to feel your feelings, Rachel,’ said Amber, her expression restored to soft compassion, but by now I’d lost my footing.

‘I shouldn’t be telling you this. I don’t even know for sure. Mum’s always denied it and I’d never ask him… Perhaps it is just me, looking for excuses for why I’m such a fucking disgusting mess.’

I was staring at the ground, my body hot and shaky, but as the silence stretched into elastic infinity, I was forced to look up.

‘Slow down, Rachel, okay? Don’t abandon your own knowing to preserve the status quo.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘The status quo has been killing you.’

‘They weren’t actually…’ I’d lost all articulacy, the memories too harsh for me to be able to neatly package them up into clear sentences.

‘They were in your parents’ bedroom together.’ She was doing that thing again, striking off the facts with her fingers. ‘You said your father was actually in bed.’

My voice wobbled. ‘That’s how I remember it, yeah.’

It was more than my voice; my whole world was wobbling with my profound feeling that it was me who was the real betrayer here.

Amber’s eyes didn’t leave my face. ‘And your mother still wouldn’t believe you,’ she said, making the words come slow and weighty. They were like a wrecking ball.

‘I can’t do this, okay?’ I was almost shouting. ‘I’m not ready. I don’t know for sure.’ My face was buried in my hands, tears trickling through them onto the worn velvet. ‘They do love me. She loves me so much, that’s why she’s so controlling!’

Amber’s face was pure kindness when she replied. ‘I know that, Rachel, and of course we should honour it. What’s so sad is that it doesn’t make it any easier for you.’

That was it: I gave way to the sobbing, my body shaking and heaving with dirty, complicated grief.

‘Do you need some physical contact?’ whispered Amber, and I gave a muffled grunt of permission. Soon her arms were ringed around my shoulders: gradually I let myself sink into her, my tears soaking the stylish black silk shirt she wore, decorated with tiny white question marks. She was so chic, so pretty. Sometimes it was almost like a crush, the way I felt about her. I wondered idly how old she was, relieved to momentarily devote my thinking to something trivial. I had no idea. My sobs started to subside.

‘You’re such a brave young woman, Rachel,’ she said, the words whispered into my hair. ‘You’re doing so, so well.’