I needed time to unpack my feelings about everything but, right now, all I wanted to do was veg out and watch television until I became numb.

‘Look, Zo,’ I said, ‘is it okay if we move on? Can we just chill out together tonight?’

She looked a little surprised, I think, but she agreed. I hoped that I could make it up by supplying a Chinese takeaway and some booze.

So, we had a few drinks, ate our food, and watched a Mission Impossible movie Zoe had recorded. It was pleasant, mind-numbing stuff, and by the time I was bedding down on the sofa, I was hopeful that I could sink into sleep. Guilt about skiving from school was nipping at me underneath the other, more dominant emotions, and I was determined to go in full of enthusiasm in the morning.

But as soon as I closed my eyes, all I could see was Anya, scrambling up that cliff path as she feared for her life. My heart began to pound in my chest and I had to sit up, untangling myself from the thin, single duvet that barely covered half my body. I grabbed my phone, its light bathing my face in the dark room, I looked at my last exchange with Anya. I had expected a barrage of messages and, although I was relieved to have been given the space I’d asked for, her silence was nonetheless discomfiting.

I went to the kitchen and got myself a glass of water. I needed to stop drinking so much. Zoe had stopped at two bottles of beer, but I’d then drunk most of the bottle of red I’d brought with me. It hadn’t seemed to affect me at all but now I could feel the dry mouth and inklings of a headache waiting in the wings for the morning.

I lay there, mind churning with pictures of Anya, Mrs Mack, Michael Copeland and that Islington flat, while my back ached from the inadequate length of the sofa. Finally, as the sound of birdsong began to seep into the room and grey dawn crept over the dark shapes of the furniture, I slept.

I was groggy the next morning when Zoe woke me with a strong cup of coffee but dragged myself into the shower and let the hot water pound me awake, before putting on my borderline-smelly clothes from the day before and hoping for the best.

I would normally wear a shirt and smart trousers to work. Now I had on a T-shirt and grey cotton trousers – thank God I hadn’t worn my jeans the day before, which really would have been frowned upon by Jackie.

Zoe offered me an iron but we were running late. I’d have to do.