‘I need to know what you remember.’

How can I explain to her with words? I was in a kind of fugue state where things were too complex to express. All I could say was This isn’t right. I remember Karl coming to see me, sitting there grim and tight-lipped, me trying to explain, saying that perhaps I was just an unusual sort of person. No, he’d said, you’re not unusual at all.

‘Do you remember being told of your mother’s death?’

I look down at my wrist cuts and pick at a scab. ‘Yes.’ I pull off the scab. ‘One of the doctors came into my room; he said my mother had passed away. I hate that bullshit language. You’d hope a doctor could use the correct term: dead.’

On the way out he’d popped a lozenge into his mouth and I’d heard him outside saying my door should remain open, that I should be on suicide watch. Which initially sounded ridiculous; for starters, I didn’t believe him about my mother. I trusted no one any more, I knew that people were liars and deceivers and I became convinced that they were trying to drive me mad, all of them, even Karl – he was in league with them. He came to see me later without the children – the children were scared of me, apparently. He was crying when he said Julia had taken an overdose. And I wondered for the first time whether it was true. I waited for her every day but she didn’t come and neither did the children. I grew anxious; what was my life without my children and my mother? What was I doing in a place like this? Yes! Suicide watch because suicide was a good idea.

I’d made a friend of sorts, this hugely pregnant Chinese woman, who was in there for trying to cut out her baby, but other than that she seemed pretty sane to me. I kept telling her I wanted to die and one day she’d had enough and asked me why I didn’t just get on with it. So I mentioned swallowing washing powder or somehow jumping off the roof. And she said, What’s stopping you? I had to think about that. And you know what? It was just cowardice.

‘It seems unfair not to be allowed to kill yourself humanely, don’t you think, Dr. R? Why does it have to be so painful?’

‘Were you feeling suicidal when you phoned home on November 2nd? It’s important that you try and remember. Annie answered the phone . . . do you remember that?’

She’s looking at me intently, leaning forward, blinking a lot. I feel like I’m in a cop movie. Everything is hanging on my answer. ‘No,’ I said.

‘You rang the house phone. Annie answered. Try and remember.’

‘I don’t remember.’