Lucy didn’t tell Jem that her last two trips to town—spaced over longer breaks, so that the final patches of skin, which were dense and knotted with scars, had a touch more time to fade down—had only been for Kat. She doesn’t know why. Even though he obviously thought Suzette’s knitted knockers plan was as ridiculous as she did, she just felt like he would have been disappointed if he knew that she had cancelled those last appointments—those last chances to ‘sort out her thinking’, as he’d once referred to the psych sessions. But today had been her last session with Kat, and she had told Jem that it was her last session with Suzette too.

‘Kat wants to take me out for a couple of drinks,’ she told him. ‘So I might rent a room so I don’t have to drive, if that’s okay with you.’

He’d frowned in a way that suggested he felt a little uneasy about it, but a couple of weeks before he’d done the same thing when he went to a mate’s bucks party, which was arguably way more likely to end in debauchery.

‘I love you,’ he’d said, in answer, and kissed her on the brow.

That afternoon, Kat had inked in the last few gaps, and then, while Lucy was still topless in the parlour—so they could both appreciate the glory that was her chest—she and Kat had shotted gin and thanked each other profusely.

‘I just can’t tell you how much more real this feels,’ Lucy had said, not for the first time. She’d told Kat about the scared fish the last time she was in town; about how she knew, now, that she wouldn’t want any other body but hers.

‘Well, I just want to say cheers for picking me to do this,’ Kat had said. ‘You’re a legend and it’s been my absolute fucking pleasure to go on this journey with you.’

It’s wintery outside—the air cuts, and bites, and makes things ache—so Lucy had rugged up, and then the two of them had dashed to the pub to meet Shani, who was also gloriously tattooed and, ‘Fucking honoured to meet a brave woman such as yourself.’ The three of them had then settled in for the night.

Lucy has just tottered back to their table with a fresh jug when she hears his voice.

‘Lucy?’

It’s Harry, standing there in a crispy clean blue flanny, jug of beer in each hand, grinning at her.