I closed my eyes. No. I was stronger now. Things could be different. I’d chosen to invite her to stay – the decision had been mine. And, at the moment, with Rohan away, it suited me to have the company. But I could be prepared. I could have a plan. In practical terms, I’d take her to estate agent’s and help her look for somewhere – yes – but I also wanted her to treat me as an equal. I needed to find some techniques; ways to handle her.

I closed my eyes and tried to look objectively at the situation. I was never able to stand up to Grace, and I never had been. She belittled me, walked all over me and ignored my wishes, and I let her. Was this bullying? Was I enabling it?

Feeling like a traitor, I reached for the iPad, opened a new tab and typed in ‘emotional bullying’ then ‘bullying in female friendships’.

Verbal abuse such as name-calling; threatening or intimidating behaviour; constant criticism; controlling or manipulating. Eye-rolling. Smirking.

Hmm. I clicked through a link and ended up on another page.

Your friend can make you feel like dirt or like you’re the best and only person in the room. She makes you work for her friendship and, when you get it, it feels incredible.

That sounded familiar.

There was a click on the landing: Grace’s door opening. I slid the iPad quickly under the duvet just before she knocked on my door and popped her head round without waiting for me to reply. Her hair was down, hanging loosely around her shoulders and her faced was cleansed and shiny with moisturizer.

‘Hey. I saw your light was still on. Look, I was thinking about those boxes in the attic. I’d love to look through them?’

‘Sure… I’ll bring them down tomorrow.’

‘Great. But there’s no time like the present!’ She beamed at me. ‘Just chuck me the key and I’ll get them.’

I sighed. I didn’t want her alone in the attic with my artwork. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll get them.’

So Grace went back to her room and I padded up the stairs and hauled the boxes down, locking the attic after me. Grace watched from the rocking chair as I plonked them on the floor in front of her. I straightened up and looked at my hands.

‘I’m filthy,’ I said, but she was on her knees, pulling at the peeling tape of one of the boxes I hadn’t opened.

‘So exciting,’ she said. ‘It’s like Cash in the Attic!’

‘I really doubt there’s anything valuable in there.’

‘You never know. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure, and all that.’