‘Slowly I made my way towards her, like a steady but lethal missile. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I said calmly, eyes focused on my target. I knew what I had to do. I stopped. I was no more than four feet from her. She was seated at the piano now, with her back to me, talking to someone – I have no idea who – I saw no one but her, the flowers on her dress, the moles on her neck, the necklace I had once given her. I fancied I could smell her, my Jo Malone perfume.

‘I brought out the thick plastic bottle from my pocket and looked at it: Spirit of Salts. Hydrochloric Acid. Hazardous. I started to unscrew the lid. It had a child lock on it so I had to apply pressure with a twist.’ I watched, quite mesmerized, as the acrid vapour swirled out of the bottle like a sick and dangerous genie.

‘“Ness?” I said, my voice sounding faraway, even to me. She was smiling, beautiful. She turned round, her face dropping as she saw me. She knew I knew. And as I chucked the contents of that bottle straight at her, I felt this wonderful, almost perfect feeling of justice being done.’

Dr. R has covered her mouth with her hand. And I realize she doesn’t see it in quite the same way that I do.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say to her. ‘Some have-a-go hero leapt to the aid of the damsel in distress and I felt myself being jumped on, flung to the ground.’

I remember the fizz as the caustic liquid genie spilt himself upon me, on to my neck, down my own arm, on to my legs, denying me my wishes. I lay there on the floor with a stranger on top of me, acrid steam rising up from the tiles, getting up my nose, into my mouth, making me choke. And there she was: still beautiful, still treacherous, but acid-free, looking down at me while my skin sizzled and burnt itself raw.

Dr. R listens carefully. Then she slowly takes her gaze out of the window and frowns. ‘It wasn’t premeditated then?’ she asks.

‘Not at all. It was divine opportunity.’

‘Then what happened?’

I think back. I remember the searing pain on my leg, on my tummy, my arm. I remember people looking down at me on the tiles, their faces twisted with disbelief and confusion. Fear, actually. I saw fear. I was a monster. I was still holding the bottle and someone wrenched it from my grip as if I might be some sort of Spirit of Salts terrorist and liable to go rampaging around the church splashing all and sundry.