I’m tense and even though my body aches with tiredness, I know I’ve gone past any notion of sleep, so I make myself a cup of very milky tea and curl up in front of our gas fire watching the faux flames flicker and dance. Ironic, really, that I can find flames comforting.

Well, ironic or worrying. One of those.

I think of the chain of events that led to that point – when I ended up in hospital, missing the second semester of my first year at university and having to start all over again come the spring.

Did it all start that day in Fiorentinis? Or the day my mother died? Or was it the first time he came into my room to ‘comfort’ me?

So much is blurry now, you see. After all these years. But some details are crisp and clear in my head and they never leave. The senses of things. Smell. Touch. Pain.

I shake my head, trying to shake all those memories from it. If only it were that easy.

But it’s not, of course. And it’s only going to get harder over the next week and months. I have to find a way to cope, otherwise I’ll not only push Ciara and Kathleen further away, but I’ll also push Alex away. That is truly unthinkable.

I have to stop taking my anger out on other people. Even people such as Ciara and Kathleen. People I’d tried to make like me all those years ago. People I’d wanted to love back then, but who never loved me back. I owe them no loyalty, but they aren’t responsible for what Joe did any more than I am.

Eventually I drift off into something approximating a sleep, only to be woken at 4 a.m. by a hungry baby in need of a feed. When I’ve satisfied her needs, I climb into bed beside my husband and whisper to his sleeping form that I love him, and our daughter, more than he could ever understand.

When morning comes, I apologise to him for being insensitive. I tell him I’m stressed but I love him. He pulls me into a hug, kisses the top of my head and whispers that he loves me and just wants me to be happy. I stop myself from crying. I just plaster on a smile, tell him I am happy and send him on his way to work.

I have the same fake smile plastered on my face when I arrive at Joe’s house and offer an apology to Ciara and Kathleen, which I’m making to try to smooth the waters.

‘I’m sorry if I came across as clinical and cold last night,’ I say, trying my best to maintain eye contact even though it is almost physically painful to do so. ‘This is difficult. For us all. I was feeling stressed and I didn’t mean to upset anyone.’

They nod and we sit in uncomfortable silence until we hear the tinkle of the bell Kathleen gave Joe to summon us when he needs anything.