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Silence.

Then a cheerful little click. ‘Right,’ Mum’s voice said ominously.

I stared at the intercom. Three seconds later, Claire’s front door burst open. And there she was, her hands on her hips and her good winter coat on. Shit, she meant business.

I was still standing there with one tit hanging out of Claire’s boob-tube dress from last night, which was actively snowing spunk crumbs onto her carpet. Jesus, when was the last time Joe Ferguson had emptied his balls before he took me on his mum’s sofa?

‘You’ve got five minutes,’ Mum said briskly, already steering me towards the bedroom. ‘Get dressed.’

‘My head, Mum! I can’t,’ I protested weakly. ‘I’m severely hungover. Possibly dying. I can’t face this, Mum. Not today. Please!’

She barely blinked. Instead, she just pointed down the hall like a prison guard directing an inmate to their cell in Barlinnie.

Defeated, I trudged into Claire’s bedroom, where she’d laid out a pair of black leggings and a few tops. Thank God. Another day dressed like someone named Linda who sold scented candles on Facebook Marketplace would have pushed me over the edge.

As I changed, I spotted a packet of cheap baby wipes on Claire’s dressing table. A moment passed. Then survival instinct kicked in. After double-checking that the bedroom door was shut, I grabbed the packet and began fiercely scrubbing my vagina. Then, I plucked a few more from the pack and removed any evidence that Joe Ferguson’s DNA had been anywhere near my face, neck and boobs.

Eventually, red-faced and blotchy, I plonked Claire’s dress into the washing pile and shuffled back into the living room, where Mum was folding my friend’s blankets like she’d owned the flat for twenty years. I threw my arms dramatically to my sides.

‘Well?’ I sighed. ‘Are you happy now?’

She set the blankets down and walked over, rubbing my shoulders almost kindly. ‘Do you know what you should always do when you feel lost or down, Harri?’

I took a small step back, not interested in any more pep talks.

‘Help someone worse off,’ she continued, completely ignoring my retreat.

My eyes prickled. ‘I’m struggling to find anyone worse off than me right now,’ I muttered. ‘My husband’s currently been spotted at The Ritz with his mistress, and the collapse of my marriage has apparently become a spectator sport on the internet.’

Mum tutted. ‘That’s his path, hen. And he’s gone right down the wrong one. But that doesn’t mean you have to follow him.’

She held out her hand. I stared at it for a moment before finally taking it, my legs feeling like they were filled with wet cement.

Dad was waiting in the car park outside. He had a massive grin on his face when he first saw me. Then he saw my actual face. The grin vanished immediately. We drove to the community centre in silence.

Mum disappeared into the building and I followed, sidestepping the ladders the janitor was using to help him hang the Christmas decorations. They all looked exactly the same as they had when I was eight. I was freezing outside and boiling inside, my face still pulsing from last night’s alcohol marathon. I dumped myself at my usual spot, the smell of soup already clawing at my throat.

‘I’m surprised you made it in,’ a voice said from somewhere to my left. Jamie. His tone was flat. Suspiciously non-smug.

‘Didn’t have a choice, did I?’ I muttered, tearing open a bag of carrots. He grunted quietly, then walked to the other side of the kitchen. Probably ashamed for me at how tragic I looked. Forced to volunteer here because my mum had decided public humiliation was character building.

I was pathetic.

I started chopping. I was back on soup duties, clearly demoted from cheese sandwiches. But Rupert and Pen’s stupid faces kept replaying in my head like a cursed TikTok loop. What if this is it for me? I thought as I began chopping my fortieth carrot. What if I’m stuck here forever? I couldn’t spend the rest of my life picking up whisky warriors in the local boozer. I had to go back, but how? There was no way I was going back to be rejected. My best bet was my fans. But eventually, the internet would lose interest, just like it always did. I couldn’t exactly pop online right now and say, Hi, guys, keep pestering my cheating husband until he sees the light. This might be game over. My perfect life, ruined.

My chest tightened. No. Not now. My breathing sped up. The walls felt too close. I couldn’t breathe –

‘AGHHH!’

Pain shot through my finger. I stared down at the chopping board as bright red blood spread across it.

‘Shit,’ I panicked. ‘Mum! Help!’

People rushed towards me, but their faces blurred together. My ears began ringing so loudly, and everyone around me suddenly felt miles away.

Then Jamie appeared in front of me.

And everything went black.