She reached into a stylishly battered brown leather bag that was slotted behind the sofa. The make-up bag itself was black vinyl, decorated with extravagant red hearts. For me, so hungry to vault the boundaries that stood between us, it felt like a precious piece of evidence. When I came back from the loo – having raked through every product in there, trying to assess what they told me about who she was in real life – she was staring out of the window onto the market. I handed the bag back to her as she turned to me.

‘Thank you,’ I said, the word too full. The day that stretched out ahead was starting to feel real. I froze. ‘I’m sorry if I couldn’t… if I wasn’t…’

My words faded again.

‘Don’t apologize,’ she said, fierce. ‘I’m not here to judge you. Don’t add any more inner critics to the list. I’m Team Rachel – I hope you know that by now.’

‘I do,’ I said, my voice twisting with emotion.

‘The fact is,’ she added, ‘and I hope it’s not weird me saying it – I think we’d be friends if we met in real life. I can’t say that about many of my clients.’

‘Me too,’ I said. I was surprised how it felt hearing that: it was thrilling and intimidating all at once, like a sixth former smuggling you into the pub and plying you with vodka. ‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ I said, my eyes drawn back to the row of cards. ‘If it wasn’t for you, the prospect of family Christmas would be basically killing me.’

How long would she be away for? The very thought of it was making me panic: these weekly sessions of ours were my lifeline. Amber contemplated me for a second.

‘You know, Christmas is a prime example of a time where you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for what other people want you to be.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked uncertainly.

‘That long break can be incredibly healing, rather than something that we have to dread. I rarely spend it with my family. This year I’m leading a retreat, scooping up a few Christmas orphans for something genuinely healing and peaceful.’

I couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or not.

‘But I have to be there for Christmas…’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s Christmas,’ I added stupidly.

Amber smiled gently at my naivety.

‘You don’t have to do anything,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to be anyone, either. You can just be Rachel.’

It was a typical Amber statement: profound and meaningless all at once. To me, right then, it was a precious jewel, and I would take it away and treasure it. Polish it until it became so valuable to me that it was dangerous, a talisman to guide me.

LILY