‘I’m brilliant,’ I announce, my cheeks burning now. It feels ridiculous, but why not do as she asks? What’s the point of refusing when I’m supposed to be on this life coaching ‘journey’ with Jules, as she puts it? Some people – e.g. Andy – might scoff, but any port in a storm, I reckon. And no one forced me to do it. I asked for her help, and maybe it’ll enable me to become stronger and better at speaking my mind – so I’ll no longer endure Andy hanging about, drinking my coffee and saying I ‘look well’ when I can hardly stomach the sight of him.

‘Say it again,’ Jules commands.

‘I’m brilliant!’ I yell.

‘That’s better. Now, hop up on that chair and say it again, but louder. Really yell it this time.’

‘You want me to get up on the chair?’

‘Yes.’

‘I might fall off!’

‘I doubt it. Take the risk.’

Grinning, I clamber up and look down at her. She looks so neat and pretty in her little blue shift dress with bare legs and flats. Like a woman whose life is together, I decide. Like someone who somehow manages to be lovely and widely liked, yet doesn’t take any crap from anyone.

‘Now really shout it,’ she barks at me.

‘I’m brilliant!’

‘Up onto the table now.’

‘What?’

‘Get up on the table and shout it as loud as you possibly can.’

‘The neighbours might hear.’

‘Sod the neighbours.’

I glance to the window. ‘Chrissie’s sitting out there. I might scare the baby.’

Jules chuckles. ‘Or she might be subconsciously infused with a message of female empowerment …’

‘Or traumatised by a demented woman screaming …’

‘Which’ll stand her in very good stead growing up in a household with a big brother like that.’

What the hell, she’s probably right. I kick off my shoes – outdoor footwear on the table is a bridge too far, even if I’m about to make a spectacle of myself – and climb up. ‘I’m brilliant!’ I roar.

‘Shout it out,’ Jules enthuses, gazing up at me. ‘Think of how far you’ve come these past few months. Think of all the praise you dish out every day, to Izzy and Spencer and all your friends, and how that’s helped to make them the people they are. And now celebrate yourself. Yell it as loud as you can from the top of your lungs. Yell, “I’m fucking brilliant.”’

I laugh into my hands.

‘Do, it, Viv—’

‘I’M BRILLIANT!’ I bellow. ‘I’M FUCKING BRILLIA—’

I stop abruptly, staggering slightly as the kitchen door swings open. Penny is standing there in a bright pink dress, her mouth open in a delighted grin as she stares up at me. Beside her stands an unfamiliar man; a tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven and terribly handsome man, who looks astounded.