‘I am looking for a job, there just doesn’t seem to be much out there,’ I say quietly, a fizz of irritation burning low in my belly. No ‘thank you’ for taking the dog out, just a dig about my finances. I turn to the sink and start washing the glass out, letting the cold water run over my wrists.

‘Oh, you know I don’t mean it,’ Mags snorts, stubbing her joint out. ‘Take as long as you need, I can make the rent. I know you’ve had a tough time. It was just a joke.’

Secretly, I think that perhaps Mags needs to take a second look at her ‘jokes’ because they’re really not very funny, but I don’t say anything, instead just keep drying my glass until it squeaks under the pressure of my hand.

‘I like having you here, you know that.’ Mags jumps down off the table and pulls me into a musty, patchouli-scented embrace. ‘I don’t mind looking after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ I pull away, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose. I’ll never get used to the incense that Mags burns day and night. Mags has been kind to me after what happened with Harry, but honestly this was only ever meant to be a temporary thing. I didn’t envisage myself still living here six months on.

‘Well, clearly you do.’ Mags’s voice takes on a snippy tone. ‘Not being funny, Emily, but you didn’t exactly have people beating down the door to take care of you when Harry treated you the way he did. It’s not like you had anywhere else to go, and your mum didn’t really rise to the occasion, did she? Too busy sunning herself.’

I squash down a sigh. It’s not the first time that Mags has thrown back in my face how she was the only one who helped me when I was literally on my knees, and once again, I wish I hadn’t revealed to Mags how I felt about my mum, after two bottles of wine in front of the telly one Friday night. ‘I know, Mags, and I do appreciate it, you know I do.’