‘But she did ask to see a photo of you,’ she says. ‘Apparently not a day has gone by when she hasn’t imagined what you look like.’

Her and me both. Even when I thought she was thousands of miles away, it hadn’t stopped me from eyeballing every woman I saw, wondering if I’d be able to recognize the little girl she once was.

‘So you showed her one?’ I ask, as anxiety flutters its wings again.

‘Only the newspaper cutting you sent me about your award,’ says Aunt Meryl. ‘I wanted her to see how well you’ve done and how far you’ve come.’

I pull myself off the couch to look at the same clipping that hangs proudly in a frame on my office wall. My smile is wide as I stand beside the President of the British Psychological Society, with both our hands clutching my red-stamped certificate for my outstanding contribution to clinical psychology.

I was as happy as I could ever remember being in that yellow dress, which I’d found in a vintage shop in Tunbridge Wells, knowing that Leon was just to the side of the camera, the pair of us eager to get out of the stuffy surroundings of the assembly hall and into a pub garden.

I’d finally escaped my past; stepped out from underneath the black cloud that had shrouded so much of my life, and into the sunshine. How could I possibly have known that that moment might prove to be my downfall all these years later?

I could pretend that it’s impossible to see the calligraphy on the certificate that says the award is presented to Naomi Chandler. That the writing is too fancy to be able to read that my practice is called Chandler Associates. That you’d need to be Einstein to be able to then search for my website that gives my Tattenhall address.

As Aunt Meryl’s faux pas resonates and the recriminations evolve in my head, each more terrifying than the last, my body folds in on itself. I hold on to my desk to steady myself, forcing breaths in and out of my lungs.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Aunt Meryl, blithely unaware of exactly how grave her error of judgement may have been. ‘I couldn’t see that it would do any harm.’

You have no idea, I think to myself, but say, ‘It’s fine, I’ve got to go,’ instead.

‘OK, Angel,’ she says. ‘I’ll speak to you soon.’

5