‘I scrabbled to my feet. I had to get out of there. I ran out of the church by the little door on the side. It was dark outside. I kept on running, down the hill, across the road, over the railway until I got to the river. It was pitch black, raining and cold on the towpath but I was on fire, my skin was burning up, burning off my hands, my torso, my right thigh. I was crying out with the pain of it when in the darkness I saw this little flashing white light approaching. I thought it was a fairy, a spirit. But it was a woman on a bike. She screamed when she saw me. I remember thinking why is everyone so scared of me? Then I looked down at my body lit up by her flickering bicycle light. You couldn’t see the burns but you could see the blood. I was covered from the waist down. Had someone stabbed me? Then it dawned on me that what with one thing and another, I’d forgotten to change my Tampax.’

But the blood was nothing compared to the pain. Holding my hand out in that winking white light I could see that the skin had burnt right off, as if the flesh itself was trying to breathe the air.

‘I had to get into the water. I started ripping off my clothes. I slid down the bank as fast as I could, slipping in the mud, the woman still shouting at me . . .’

I remember the coldness of the river, squatting in the shallows, the filthy water soothing my fiery flesh. I remember wondering if I’d make it back in time for Annie’s banana song. And what time I should try and get the lasagne in the oven. I needed to light the candles, put napkins on the table, decant the wine. But the next thing I knew, a policeman was dragging me out of the water along the shingle, scraping the skin off me. I felt like raw meat being scored. I was screaming, trying to stop him, fighting him off, but then more police came down to the water and there were more flashing lights. God, I needed some drugs.

* * *

Sep 30