‘Let’s play a word association game,’ says Diane.

She’s an aspiring therapist and I’m a people pleaser, so she knows I’ll agree. Especially after two glasses of Malbec.

‘Just say the first thing that pops into your head, OK?’

I am far from OK with what might pop out of my head, but I lie back on her couch, eyes closed, as if this is a real therapy session.

‘Head,’ she says.

‘Shrink,’ I say, smiling at my little joke.

‘Green.’

My mind hits a blank wall and my eyes fly open.

Diane is squinting through her varifocals at the next word on her list. ‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘Let’s keep going. Water.’

‘Willen Lake.’ For the first time in ages, I remember Milton Keynes and all those bloody parks.

‘To sing,’ says Diane.

I force myself to think of anything other than MK. ‘Beyoncé.’

‘Dead.’

‘Space.’

‘Long.’

‘Time.’‘

Ship.’

‘Wreck.’

‘To pay.’

‘Mother.’

‘Window.’

‘Pain.’ Then I can’t breathe. And I don’t hear any more words. Space roars around me and I grip the arm of the sofa. Diane’s sofa. I’m in Diane’s living room and I’m safe here. Safe, I say to myself, until I start to believe it. ‘Let’s stop,’ I say out loud.

‘What happened?’ Diane asks, and, when I don’t reply, ‘Where’s Willen Lake?’

‘In Milton Keynes.’

‘The place up the M1 with all the roundabouts?’

‘It’s very green,’ I say on autopilot, reaching for my wineglass. ‘A great place to bring up kids.’

Diane glances out of the window at her neighbours’ fire escape. ‘Yeah, I suppose it would be, compared to Brixton. Why did you move away? Empty nest?’

‘No, not exactly. I got used to the empty house, used Calum’s bedroom as an office and Ava’s for drying clothes.’ I pause, gulp more Malbec. ‘It was the outdoors that got to me. The kids loved our garden and all the parks: they were always outdoors. All those bloody green spaces. Just outside the window. When I knew the kids weren’t coming back, I closed the curtains, stopped going out, lived on deliveries. But the green spaces were still there … In the end I came here.’

Diane hands me a box of tissues and I realise my face is wet.

‘I’ve never met your children, have I? What are they like?’

‘Calum’s a lumberjack in Canada and Ava’s married to an Argentinian rancher. I have five grandchildren now.’

‘Congratulations.’

Why would she say that? I’ve never met them.

‘My kids never visit because—’ I look into eyes that are empty of judgement and say it out loud for the first time: ‘The green spaces took them.’

Diane leans across the coffee table, takes both my hands, and says, ‘I think you should see a real therapist.’

I nod as she knows I will. Then I change my mind and lie back on her couch, waiting for the next word. ‘No, you’re great. You had me at green.’