‘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.’

And I do appreciate it, I’m not lying. I still remember the fear that gripped me every time the buzzer rang, or the neighbours banged on the wall, when I first arrived – how the blood would speed around my veins, making my breath come short in my throat, believing that Harry had found me. And I remember the way Mags didn’t mind me leaving the chain on twenty-four/seven, even when it meant that she missed her dealer dropping off her gear one Saturday evening. The way Mags would sit with me for hours, watching old movies with one arm looped over my shoulders, so I didn’t have to be alone, even though she probably had a thousand and one better things to be doing. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I’m ready to get back to the old Emily.

‘Did I get any messages?’ I ask. I handed my CV to a recruitment company in Swindon town centre last week, and they’d said they’d call but they haven’t.

‘Nope.’

‘I might call them. I just think it’s time I got back out there, you know. Properly out there, working, not just taking Tiny out for a walk twice a day. I can’t hibernate in here forever.’ I move towards the clothes airer in the corner of the kitchen, even though there is barely any laundry on it and start to fold the few things that hang there.

‘You don’t have to, Em, you know that.’ Mags follows me, standing close behind me as I fold and smooth the fabric. I can feel her breath on the back of my neck, a grass-scented huff raising the wispy hairs that don’t reach my ponytail. ‘I like you being here, and it honestly doesn’t matter about the rent; you know my dad pays it anyway.’