I’d never told them about the accident, what happened after. About taking the pills, two at a time, and sleeping for days, finally getting up and dragging myself to the corner shop to buy cigarettes, cutting my hair over the bathroom sink, because it was still full of glitter and I couldn’t get rid of it. About going back to bed and only getting up to chain-smoke in bursts, and Helen kindly suggesting that I do it further away from the windows and then kindly suggesting I look for another place to live—no hurry, just when I was ready, it wasn’t personal and she was very sorry. About ignoring all the calls from work, from Lina, waking up to find her sitting on my bed and the awful look on her face, and how nothing had ever felt the same since.

I’d never told them about Jenny. About the vomit. About how Lina had wailed.

‘From the first night, I wanted to tell you the story, the whole story. And I didn’t know why. I still don’t. But you made me feel safe and it made me want to just let it out.’

‘I wish you had.’

I glanced at him, away. Too much.

‘I just wanted you to like me.’ I swallowed. ‘I wanted to—’

It’s why my dad left.

I wanted everything. I wanted him, all of him.

Too much.

‘Caitlin.’ He stepped forward again, and this time I was too tired to step back. I let him pull me in, let him wrap his arms around me and squeeze gently and let his lips touch my forehead and I felt the heat in my eyes turn into something else. Tears. Let them fall, silently.

‘Somebody died, Tom. And it was all my fault.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘It was.’

‘Why? How?’

I shook my head.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, his arms tightening. ‘It’s okay.’

But it wasn’t, no matter how many times he said it. Still, he held me. It felt strange, final, but I let him do it, needed him to do it, one last time.

‘I should go,’ I said, after a long silence.

His hands fell, almost against their will. ‘What?’ He frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Home. My place.’

‘Come to mine.’

I looked at him. He seemed to mean it. Maybe he actually did.

‘Cait, please.’

I wanted to. I wanted to take his hand and go with him and let him fix all of this—let him try—but I shook my head. ‘I need a walk.’

‘I’ll come with you …’

I shook my head again.

‘I’m sorry, Cait.’ He looked at the ground. ‘I’m sorry I followed you.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Are you sure? Are we …’

It was small and unsteady and I nodded, cutting it off before it gathered any air. ‘Yeah. I just need a walk. I’ll see you tomorrow? After work?’

He exhaled. ‘Of course.’

‘Okay.’