When the food arrives we sit in silence. Georgie dips hunks of bread into her shakshuka, while I nibble at my toast and strawberry jam. Then Georgie leans back in her chair, sips her coffee and tries to initiate small talk, asking me about my job applications and whether I’ve contacted that friend of hers who works in recruitment.

I answer her questions as best I can, but it’s hard to focus on what she is saying as every time the door opens I flinch.

Once we’ve finished our coffee and cleared our plates I catch Chloe’s eye and ask for the bill. I need to get out of here now. It’s filling up and the rush of bodies is making me nervous.

‘Are you sure you don’t want another coffee, darling?’ says Georgie softly. ‘We’re not in any rush and it’s nice to spend a bit of time with you.’

‘I’m sure,’ I say, trying to suppress the dread that is rising through me. ‘It’s so hot in here. We should go and have a walk, get some fresh air.’

‘But you said it was too hot to sit outside,’ says Georgie, laughing. ‘Honestly, you’re just like Jack sometimes. Never able to make your mind up. I’ll get this.’

She grabs the bill from the silver dish that Chloe has just placed on the table before I have the chance to look at it.

‘Do let me pay, Georgie,’ I say, the familiar guilt emerging. ‘You’re always paying for things. I feel bad.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she says, taking her bank card out of her pocket and placing it on the tray. ‘It was my suggestion to come for brunch and, besides, you made that delicious supper last night.’

She winks at me and smiles so warmly I feel overcome with emotion. Perhaps now is the right time to tell her everything, to finally get it off my chest. And I mean everything – Lottie, Connor, the parcels, Geoffrey … But before I can speak, Chloe arrives at the table with the card machine and the moment is lost.

We spend the rest of the morning looking round the shops in the village. A new cosmetics store called Village Visage has opened up in the spot where the florist had been. I take a look at it then go to walk on, not able to face another reminder of my old life, but Georgie grabs my arm and drags me in.

The old me would have been intrigued by this shop. She would have been checking out the stock, asking questions, making notes on anything unusual or interesting that she could take back to Luna London. But the new Vanessa, the scared, broken person standing by the lipstick shelves as myriad colours blur into one, grotesque shapes in front of her eyes, just wants to get out of here as fast as she can.