I call it my other life, the one before I met Della Carter. The life before it happened.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been the sociable type, never been the sort to play footie with the lads on Saturday morning and pile into the pub to drink beer until teatime.

But I did have a life of sorts that suited me and wasn’t based on fear.

Now, my days are a fine balance between routine and necessity.

Don’t go out after dark, stay away from people (especially the ones you don’t know), do the same things at the same time so there are no surprises, take your medication as advised, and most important of all: don’t get yourself into a fix again.

I try to live by these rules every day, although I have to admit that recently I’ve once again felt the swell of uncertainty and disruption. There are still occasions when life catches me out and I have to try and avoid them to keep myself on the level.

And fixes are hard to avoid when you’re not so good at recognising the warning signs.

Sometimes things get the better of me, like when Mother persuaded me, against my better judgement, to attend the local church’s spring fayre last year.

I stood holding the cups while Mother went to the cake stall to find something sweet to have with our tea. The fayre was well attended and there were lots of people milling around.

The hum around me grew louder, the squeals, laughter, clattering… it all began to reverberate in my ears like I was back in the white room with no furniture.

A twisty feeling started up in my gut as I stood there frozen to the spot with sweat running down my face, the teacups starting to rattle in their saucers.

‘Let me take those for you a moment,’ a kind voice said. A man in a dog collar took the cups and put them on a table, and I said thank you and breathed out. ‘They can be very taxing events, these fayres. Jolly noisy, too. Would you like me to get you a chair?’

‘No. Thank you but I’m fine.’ I was aware that people were already looking. ‘I was just waiting for my mother, she’s buying cake.’

‘Ah, I see.’ He nodded, smiling his understanding.

We stood for a moment without speaking. Him in his long black cassock, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying his flock. And me frantically mopping my face with my handkerchief and trying to remember to breathe.

Then people – women mainly – started to gravitate towards us.

Oh yes, Father – no, Father – oh it’s a marvellous event you’ve put on here, Father…

On and on they droned. And when he eventually left to draw the raffle, they didn’t go with him. They started talking to me instead.

It was a prime example of how I get lulled into a false sense of security where I start to trust strangers, and the same thing happens again and again no matter who I’m with or where I am.

Someone seems friendly enough and I start to talk and forget what I’m saying, and I don’t know if it’s the nerves or what, but soon I see their faces start to change.

I’m never really sure what it is I have or haven’t done.

And that’s what it’s always felt like, being me.

But today, when I’m finished at Mrs Barrett’s and I’ve said goodbye to Holly, I walk back round to the house and there’s a light feeling in my heart.

Something’s not right with Holly, I know that, like I knew it with Della. But this time, I feel sure it’s nothing to do with me.

After the landline rang at the house, she was jumpy, nervous, and she wouldn’t take the call. I couldn’t hear what she was saying in the living room, but I know that tone. It’s the same tone Mother has used all her life when she’s talking about me, first to my father, now to Brian.

It’s a tone that tries to conceal alarm and concern. It’s a tone that can cover up lies very well, like a thick layer of butter might conceal mouldy bread.

I hesitate and look down towards number 11.

There’s nobody on the street just now and no sign of life from the Browns’, but I still rush straight back in through our front gate and down the short path.

Only then do I relax a little; linger down the side of my own house, press my back against the cool, rough brickwork.

There are only opaque windows overlooking me here, so I have plenty of time to stand and breathe and enjoy the light feeling that for once feels stronger than the panic.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath of sharp, cool air. I hold it there a few seconds before releasing it again. I do it a few times more.

I look directly up at the side of Mrs Barrett’s house, to the top floor.

Behind that wall is Holly’s bedroom. It’s where she sleeps at night. Directly opposite it, above where I’m standing now, is my bedroom.

At night-time, we are as close to each other as we can be. Just two slender walls between us.

There’s a warm feeling in my chest.

Holly didn’t make fun of me when I asked if she’d like to go to the cinema. She didn’t disappear when I spoke a bit about my job. She seemed genuinely interested.

Holly is different in every way.

If she’s in some kind of trouble, then perhaps I can be of assistance.

That’s how it started with Della, too. I just wanted to help, that’s all it was, and she told me she wanted me to be involved. She told me she wanted my help.

Otherwise I’d never have done something like that.

I haven’t even looked at Della’s photographs for a while. That’s how good I feel.

I’m not going to get carried away this time, but I’m honestly beginning to think that Holly moving here was meant to be.

She’s the first person I’ve met who I really do think I can trust.