‘Would you like some water?’ the Squeak asks, not expecting a reply. ‘Come on, Connie,’ she adds admonishingly. ‘She’s being a very silly girl,’ she says to Ness before leaving the room.

I try to say something but it comes out as a whisper and Ness leans in to hear better.

‘She’s a right cow,’ I say. Ness smiles. I feel only love for her; I become aware of my heart beating and momentarily feel connected to my body.

I wriggle my fingers and she takes my hand again. I close my eyes. This is not hell. This is the first piece of peace I have felt for a long time. I feel her touch on my skin and I wonder what she is doing, why she is tickling me. Then I realize she is running her finger along my suicide scars, the hackings I made on the bed while she slept. She is running her finger up and down each one, feeling every bump and shine as if she wants to feel my pain. I feel the shame of myself. What a silly girl.

I open my eyes and she is looking at me with those sad brown eyes and takes a deep tremulous breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, and I am truly puzzled. I shake my head. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I can ever say to her.

She takes something out of her bag, I cannot see what. But I see her unscrew a lid and tip something into her hand. Then with her fingertip she gently rubs some oil on to my wrist. I can smell lavender. It feels lovely, her touch on my skin; no one has touched me in this way for so long, no one has caressed my ugliness. I sigh, stretch out a little. She doesn’t stop at my wrist; she quietly moves round the bed and picks up my other wrist, examining my hand. I feel the shame again, those scars that were meant for her. I try to withdraw my hand but she doesn’t let me. She kisses my scars. Then she carefully places my hand back on the bed.

‘Let me . . .’