I stayed in the shower a long time, the water so hot that my chest burned bright pink. When I finally climbed out, I needed to sit on the edge of the bath to catch my breath. But once the room stopped spinning, I was noticeably better in myself. Cleansed. It made a difference to brush my teeth. I even used mouthwash, revelling in the sensation of the cool mint in my mouth, a blast of cold air hitting my whole face, eyeballs included.

I could hear Adzo talking to Freddie and, wrapping a towel around me, I opened the door of the en suite to a bedroom transformed. Between them they’d changed the bed linen and lit a couple of scented candles. There were flowers on the dresser, music softly playing, and a clean T-shirt displayed on the bed for my consideration.

I grabbed the shirt, turning my back to them to drop my towel and put it on. I tried not to hide my body from Freddie – I didn’t want to add to any kind of cultural narrative that we have to be embarrassed about our bodies, or be ashamed of our nakedness. I didn’t want to make a big show of not making a show though.

‘Your spine looks funny. It’s trying to escape your skin,’ Freddie commented.

Self-consciously, I whisked a hand behind me. I could feel the hard bone. I’d been dieting leading up to the wedding anyway, to the point where the dressmaker at my final fitting threatened violence if I lost any more weight and ruined the fit of the gown. I had a faraway thought that I couldn’t allow myself to start physically wasting away just because emotionally, I was. If I wanted to disappear, not eating was one way to go about it, but it was a senseless one. I honestly hadn’t had an appetite though.

‘Finish your Lucozade,’ Adzo insisted. ‘Get your energy up.’

I pulled on a pair of cotton knickers from the drawer, hoping nobody had clocked what was meant to be my wedding night surprise for Alexander – I’d had my pubes waxed into the shape of a love heart as a bit of a prank. That seemed totally ludicrous, now. When I crawled back under the covers Adzo took my hand and dolloped lotion into my palm, massaging the bit below my thumb, rubbing her hands over mine with tenderness.

‘I know some Shiatsu,’ she said, nonchalantly, when I told her it was like she knew what she was doing. ‘I had a few dates with the guy who runs the Harrods spa.’

Normally I’d be begging for details, but the thought of men and women and dating and learning massage techniques from each other were dots I couldn’t connect. That was the outside world. In this world, in between the safe four walls of this bedroom, the only thing that existed was shame and self-loathing.