First, she saw him lurking outside her work and had to hide inside until he went away. Then he came into the office and asked for her by name. She went out into the street to talk to him, even though, she said, ‘It made me feel physically sick.’

‘What did he want, though?’ I asked.

She made an impatient gesture, throwing her hands into the air. ‘He wanted to fuck with me! To intimidate me, Elliott!’ Her voice cracked, and I felt myself drawing back, aware suddenly that I was making her feel worse. But it felt so hard to understand the point of this kind of obsessive behaviour.

Breathing heavily, Anya continued.

‘I threatened him with the police and he left. But then he somehow got hold of my mobile number. It was the day of the festival …’

Understanding seemed to flood through me now. That explained her weird behaviour that day. It hadn’t all been my fault.

‘Anyway, I was trying not to think about it,’ she said. ‘I was up there on your shoulders, feeling like Queen of the World and attempting to record the Foo Fighters, when a message appeared on my screen. It said “I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE ANASTASIA”, all in capitals.’

Anya gave a quick, bright laugh and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about being sick on your shoes. I liked those shoes.’

‘Fuck the shoes,’ I said, emotion rising inside me, hot and damp. I almost wanted to cry, but I was angry too. ‘I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me any of this at the time.’

Anya gazed back at me, her eyes brimming with tears now. Outside someone was shouting in a foreign language and a car alarm was going on off on a different street. It felt surprising, that life was going on out there, as normal.

‘Okay,’ she said, blowing out air and lifting up her hair, before twisting it and tying it up with the band around her wrist. ‘I won’t be able to apologize enough and so I’m not even going to try. This is the really hard bit. I know this is going to make you think you haven’t been the big protector, or some other patriarchal bullshit. But honestly, I didn’t especially want you to know that I cracked up at uni. I didn’t want you to change your opinion of me, to see me as someone else.’

‘Anya, I can’t believe—’

‘Please, Ell!’ she shouted, making me flinch. ‘Let me get this out! Just, please, listen.’

I sat back in the seat, raising my palms again.

‘So, obviously it was Copeland,’ she continued. ‘I told Mum and Dad straight away and they advised me to change my number. I’m sorry … I didn’t really lose my phone but it seemed easier to say that. Mum and Dad thought that was the best thing …’