A muffled, dense fog has filled my head. The walls of my bedroom feel like they are closing in, the house trying to suffocate me now that I know the truth. I go into the bathroom and push the plug into the bath, turn on the hot tap as far as it will go and pour deeply purple foam bath into the torrent of scalding water. I stare as the water runs so darkly purple, it is almost black. It is as though I am looking through a window on a rainy evening, everything blurred and distorted.

Steam builds, fogging up the mirror as I begin to undress. My hands fall on the pill bottles in my pockets, forgotten amid a bigger discovery. I consider each one, then line them up on the side of the bath.

I throw on my robe and, closing the bathroom door behind me, I leave my room, climb back up the stairs to the attic and dig behind the loose panel again, pulling out the bottle of vodka I opened with Tracey, most of the liquid still there, only a few mouthfuls missing.

I return to my bedroom. The tray of food is already on my desk, Martha filling a plate with lasagne and salad, a bowl of strawberries swimming in cream on the side. All things I love, but have no taste for tonight.

I close my bedroom door, then close the bathroom door firmly before dropping the robe and slipping into the water, the vodka bottle clutched in my hand. The water is scalding. I inhale sharply, feel my skin tingle and sting as I sink into it. It is almost unbearable until I turn on the cold tap and feel it splash and pour over me, taking the searing edge off. My skin is bright red below the water, peach white above. I think of Tracey’s dark skin, such a contrast to mine, and the way the water clung to her in droplets. I turn off the water and line the vodka bottle up next to the pills.

I lie back, my long hair fanning out around me, the bubbles clinging desperately to my scorched skin. The smell of lavender is inebriating, overpowering me into not thinking.

But not for long. My mind returns to the letters, to my father’s face when I hugged him as he left. Sure, I was trying to evoke a reaction from him, but I also recognise the tiny part of me that really wanted him to actually hug me back, properly, intentionally, with feeling. Instead, I can see the alarm, dread and revulsion that flickered across his usually blank face in a matter of seconds, like a ripple in a puddle.

Now I understand.