So, Rosie my love, next time you have an audition, do you think you can try some of those marvellous exercises your auntie Bridget gave you? Maybe start the day before you go, even a few days before, and sort of build up?

I stir my cappuccino and nod, but I don’t meet Emily’s eyes because I feel too awkward, and I still wish I hadn’t told her about your counselling.

I did do them this time, I say, but I’d got sick the time before so I think I was, like, worried about getting sick again. You know, like, on top of being worried about the audition? And that was, like, too much worry.

All right. Right you are. You must try not to worry all the time. Your mum… and I don’t mean this in any way critically… your mum is a super, super mum…

I understand. I look her in the eye and smile.

She smiles back as if she’s passing an apple pip through her teeth to spit it out, and cocks her head to one side. She’s very protective of you, isn’t she? Do you think that’s… because of the accident?

I shrug. I don’t want to talk about this stuff. This stuff is in a box with the lid closed. I’m defo not going to tell her about Uncle Eric, no way. But something bubbles up in me, now, remembering… Emily… this… it’s… this is… this is not the first time we have had this conversation. Or it is the first time but we had it a few times, maybe after. Whatever, it’s déjà vu. This is what they call déjà vu! I’ve never had that before. I’ve always wanted to see what it was like. I’m defo having it now. Cool. Or was I having it then, in the café with Emily? Or later, another time, not that one, not this?

I don’t know.

Emily presses her hand onto my cheek just for a moment and her warm palm feels so nice I want to lean my head into it and close my eyes.

That’s OK, Rosie darling, she says. You don’t have to tell me. It’s just that sometimes, when someone we love worries that we can’t do something or we can’t cope with something, we lose faith in our ability to do that very thing, indeed to do the things we want to do, do you see?

I nod but say nothing. I feel like I’m going to cry.

And sometimes that feeling of not being up to the job can make us nervous, do you see? And if we get a case of the old jitterbugs, we can feel sick or even be sick or suffer a migraine or what have you. The mind can make us very poorly. It is a very powerful organ indeed.

I have tears in my eyes now. I’m trying not to let them spill out. I sniff.

Oh my darling. She squeezes my hand. Sometimes the people we love most, lovely as they are, are in fact harming us. Do you see?

She is being kind – I know it. But I don’t like what she’s saying, though I don’t know why I don’t like it.

Mum would never hurt me.

Of course not, darling! Not intentionally, no. I would never suggest that – don’t be silly. She stops, pushes the handle of her coffee cup around so it faces the other way, then back again. She takes a breath, like a gasp, and closes her mouth for a few seconds before she speaks again. But if your mother is nervous about you going out into the world, then it could be that you’re picking up on that. Do you think that’s a possibility?

I nod. She is only trying to help.

It could be that you’ve internalised the feeling that you can’t cope with the world and its slings and arrows, as it were. And that might be what’s causing the old collywobbles, and hence the sickness, hmm?

I nod.

But I’m here to tell you… She says this a bit louder. I, the great Madame Belle, mentor and agent, I am here to tell you that you can cope, Rosie. You are capable and bright, and you can do anything at all you set your mind to, do you see? You can do it.

I nod. I am properly crying now. How embarrassing.

She takes her hand away and digs in her handbag. And somewhere inside your mum, she knows that too, all right? She pulls out a tissue and gives it to me.

Thank you. I dab my eyes.

We just have to show her that you can do these things, all right? So I need you to work on these naughty nerves of yours and really fight them. Can you do that for me? And that might mean that sometimes, just sometimes, you might need to protect your mummy in return.

Protect her? I blow my nose. It makes a honking sound. OMG, now I’m going red. What do you mean?

From what you’re doing. Do you see? As in, you could try not telling her every single thing you’re up to, to protect her from worry. It’s normal not to tell your mum everything. That’s what it means to grow up. I don’t mean go to Timbuktu for a week without telling her, or join the foreign legion. She chuckles. But explore – take a risk or two. When I was your age, I was such a scamp! I used to tell my mummy I was staying at my friend Trisha’s when I was actually staying over at my boyfriend’s.

I laugh. I can’t imagine her having a boyfriend. Where did you live?

In Hampshire then. On a farm. Now I’m just over the river from you. Emily is blinking at me from behind her silver glasses. So what do you think, Rosie? Little Red? Do you think you can protect Mummy?

I nod. The tears are stinging my eyes and my throat is hollow. To agree with her about you feels wrong. Mum? Mummy? I don’t like remembering this. I don’t like remembering these feelings and what I said. I know you only worry because you love me. I know you don’t let me do stuff because you love me. I know all you wanted was to keep me safe. But when Emily said those things, I saw what she meant – you thought I couldn’t cope and that made me think I couldn’t cope…

And that made me want to get away from you.