‘Why?’ I’m shouting back at her.

‘Because we have to own ourselves! We have to own our actions! We have to take responsibility!’ She is really furious with me; I am quite alarmed.

And then something awful happens. Dr. R turns her back on me and I can tell from the movement of her shoulders that she is crying. She is standing there at the window looking out and crying, really sobbing. I don’t move. I am silent. What did I say? I have no idea why she is in this state but I am glad it’s her, not me. I leave her to cry for a bit and then I get up to bring her some toilet paper and I join her by the window. Her head has dropped and her shoulders are heaving now; she’s in floods of tears. She takes the paper from my open palm. She blows her nose and stares out at the tree, hiccupping, blotchy-faced, mascara running down her cheeks. Gradually she calms down but she appears to be in some kind of trance looking out of that window.

Then she says, ‘That bloody leaf won’t let go, will it?’ as if that is why she is crying. She’s talking about my leaf. I too watch it waving about all alone on the tree now. I’m happy to share it with her. It can be our leaf now.

‘I’m sure the Squeak will make you some tea if we ask . . .’ I say, which is highly debatable – she’s unfathomably lazy – but I need to say something reassuring.

‘No, I’d rather no one saw me like this,’ she says, glancing at me, and I’m flattered that she doesn’t count me as anyone. Her eyes are the most beautiful turquoise blue – the tears have made them luminescent, her sadness lighting her from within.

‘Sit down!’ I say, pulling up two chairs to the window, and she does as she is told. I get her a plastic cup full of water and she takes it. She sips at it, still dabbing her eyes. I sit down next to her and look out at the naked tree and we sit like that for ages.

‘Can I tell you a story, Connie?’ she says, just when I think it might be the end of the session. Her voice is calm now. She’s finished crying.

‘Sure.’

‘OK.’ She blows her nose again and is quiet for so long that I think she must have changed her mind. But then she begins the story in a quiet, detached voice, like she’s giving a police statement.