But I do try. And I do remember being in the hall in the telephone queue. I wanted to talk to my children, to tell them that I loved them, that they needn’t be afraid of me. I remember some rude cow behind me in the queue told me that I stank, which was true. I was refusing to wash; it seemed about the only thing I could control. I hadn’t washed for weeks. If I put my nose down into my nightie I could smell that sweet soft seaside smell of dirty vagina and sticky skin.

‘Did you ring to say goodbye to them?’

I think I did. I nod.

‘Were you going to kill yourself, Connie?’

I nod again. Yes. ‘I missed my mum. I was saving up my medication.’

Then I remember: she was right, Annie picked up the phone. Annie and Polly used to answer the house phone in silly voices, trying to annoy the cold callers, pretending they’d been kidnapped or that they were aliens, that sort of thing. Hellooo, she said in a rather poor Scottish accent. I like eating poo poo. And I could hear Polly sniggering behind her. And I was happy she was well and getting on with things . . . I tried to answer her but my voice was so incredibly small that I couldn’t locate it. Annie, I mouthed because no sound came out. I love you. But I don’t think she heard me. And yet after a moment she said, Mummy? And I was floored by it, by my name, the only name that meant anything to me now . . .

My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to remember all this. Dr. R is staring at me; she looks frustrated, cross. It’s not working.

‘Tell me, what did Annie say . . . ?’

‘I heard a woman’s voice in the background – “Annie, who is it?” I knew that voice very well; it was Ness. Then she took my phone in my house and asked me, “Who is this? We don’t want to buy anything.” We, she said. In my house, she said we.’

‘And how did that make you feel?’

‘Livid.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I don’t remember.’

She sighs; she’s annoyed with me. ‘Yes, you do remember.’ She looks up now, her cheeks a burning red. ‘You do remember.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t.’

‘What did you do after this? Was this what set you off?’

‘I don’t remember.’ I want her to shut up, to stop asking me questions, to stop fishing in my brain.

‘You must remember!’ She sounds really annoyed with me. ‘What happened in the weeks after the phone call?’

‘I don’t remember! I really don’t remember!’

‘What happened, Connie?’ She’s gone puce. I’ve never seen her like this. ‘Connie, you have got to remember! None of us want to remember these things but we have to!’