‘To-wit to-woo.’ I do an owl impression, just because I can – nothing to lose and all that. But it’s not quite as satisfying with Dr. Robinson as it is with the Squeak. Anyway, she ignores it.

‘I don’t know about that . . .’

She’s such a jobsworth.

‘Do you know why you’re here, Connie?’ she says again. She sounds genuinely curious. Not tricksy.

‘I do,’ I say.

‘Tell me.’

‘They found me naked by the river . . .’ This is not the answer she is waiting for, I can tell by the way she purses her lips. I continue, ‘There was an explanation for that, by the way.’

She shakes her head. She’s not interested in my explanations. ‘Do you know why you are here, Connie?’

We have a little eyeball-off. I shrug.

‘A week ago you drove your car into the river.’

I stare at her. ‘I think I would remember that.’

She has that wrong. She’s got it all wrong. She gives a measured sigh that is difficult to read. Then she crosses those thick, strong legs of hers. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Let’s get back to Ness.’

‘Sure,’ I say. She needs to get this right. Besides, I don’t want her to leave. She’s the only person I get to really talk to. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘What do you want to tell me?’

‘I want to tell you the truth,’ I say, like a very good girl. She likes me a bit more then; I see it in her eyes.

‘That’s what I want too,’ she says quietly. I’ve given her control again; everything is how it is meant to be. ‘So you met her in the playground, you got chatting, the kids are playing, you find out a few things about each other, she compliments you . . .’

‘That’s right. This is important . . . so the next time I saw her, it was a few weeks later. I was posting a letter at the corner of our street or something, I can’t remember exactly – this is all years ago. Anyway, Ness was trying to get Polly out of her car seat. I didn’t recognize her at first. I was just thinking what a funky car it was – retro and a nice blue. Then when she stood up straight, I recognized her and the funny thing was she’d had her hair cut – just like mine! With the fringe and everything!’

Dr. Robinson leans in and slowly recrosses one leg over the other, smoothing out her dress.

‘I commented on it. I expected her to refer to the fact that she’d copied my hairstyle, after our previous conversation, or . . . some reference to it at least. But she didn’t.’

‘And what did you think about that?’

‘I just thought it was a bit odd. I thought that perhaps she wasn’t very self-aware. Or that she’d forgotten that it was me that she’d copied.’