I heave a sigh of relief as I let myself into the flat, dragging Tiny behind me. I dread walking her most of the time, my heart sinking as she dances in circles whenever Mags gets the lead out. Tiny has no idea how to behave in public, having taken to peeing on things she shouldn’t and barking at every single person who crosses our path, but the alternative is to sit in the flat all day while Mags smokes joint after joint, and sometimes I just can’t bear the thought of it; I have to get out, get some fresh air.

The strong smell of weed in the hallway tells me that Mags is awake, and she hasn’t left the flat yet. I unclip Tiny’s leash, wincing as the little dog rushes into the kitchen, barking her high-pitched, ear-splitting yaps.

‘Your dog is a psychopath,’ I say to Mags as I walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. I pull out a carton of orange juice, drinking deeply and ignoring my flatmate making a fuss of her socially inept chihuahua.

‘Well, there’s a reason why I ask you to take her for a walk, and it’s not just because you’re not paying me any rent at the moment.’ Mags resumes her position, sitting on the table top, and peers through the smoke curling from the end of her joint to where Tiny has tucked herself into a ball and promptly gone to sleep.

‘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.