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“I can’t make this better,” he said quietly. “But I can make it tolerable. We can make it clean. Ensure the air smells a little bit fresher than it does now. Get some flowers in and a bowl of fruit.”

“Flowers and fruit. That sounds like some kind of holistic bullshit. I’m depressed and broke. Nothing fruit and flowers will do much about. I have no budget for sprucing this place up. I need to sell it, move into a hotel or something.”

“No you don’t. But that’s something we can look at another time. Today is about getting you into some clothes, and with a bit of elbow grease and another cup of tea, we’ll have this place nice in no time. Now, I assume you have a washing machine upstairs. Because these sheets are going in there.”

He pinched the edge of the sheet with his fingers, then grimaced. “Or maybe not. Would you happen to have a spare set…preferably in better shape than this one? I think this needs to go in the bin. Please tell me you have a mattress protector on this bed?”

Did I? What did I know? But somehow, I got up and stood beside the bed, staring at the dark stains on the sheets. Months of tears. Filth.

Utter filth.

“It’s what happens,” he said softly. “And it’s not the end of the world.”

It felt like it. The realisation of what I was doing. Living like… I had no words to describe what I’d become, but the embarrassment was real, and it was a hard blow.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I had no idea what I was apologising for, nor how to make any kind of statement. Excuses no longer cut it. I was sleeping in filth, wearing old, threadbare, promotional pyjamas. I wondered if I had any clean clothes, what I was supposed to do. Wear. Eat. Cook.

“Help me,” I whispered. I didn’t understand why.

“I’m here to do exactly that,” he murmured back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Can you get in the shower for me? Just freshen up. Get some clothes on. I’ll make you another tea, and I’ll go grab some toast from next door. Is it all right to go upstairs, find the laundry?”

I nodded, too dumbfounded to function. My head was spinning in fear, shame, terror.

A shower. I could manage a shower, couldn’t I?

The filth in the bathroom was even worse. Empty soap and shampoo bottles were strewn all over the floor, towels lay in crumpled heaps to accentuate the theme I had going on here. The tiles were almost as dirty as the floor. A single toothbrush perched on the stained porcelain sink.

Filth. This was what I’d become. What hope did I have here, living in this basement of my own undoing? What was I doing? Trying to kill myself?

Absolutely, and I was making a fine job of it. So, I showered. There was no soap in any of the bottles that made a hell of a racket as I kicked around trying to find something. Oh, well. Plain water it was, lashings of heat over my wretched bones.

I heard him leave; the cool morning air from the open door prickled my skin as I left wet foot marks all over the floor padding around looking for clothes. Anything clean. I found a T-shirt and socks, the far-from-clean towel still covering my modesty when Stewart returned, laughing knowingly at my unconventional appearance.

“I can lend you some stuff, if you want to get everything washed.”

“I have clothes,” I grumbled. I did. Upstairs.

I did not want to go upstairs.

“A towel will do,” he said, digging around in my cupboards in the kitchenette.

I owned a toaster. Hooray. I had to smile at the scent of bread filling the room. It made a change from how it usually smelled, not that I’d noticed until today. I also noticed he’d brought a tray of things: bread, butter and a butter knife. And marmalade.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had marmalade. I couldn’t remember what I usually ate or when I’d last had a proper meal.

“I brought some rubber gloves too,” he said. “If I’m not careful, I’ll turn into a domestic god.”

“Rubber gloves, eh? Are you sure cleaning isn’t your vocation?”

The toast was in my mouth. I had no idea how it got there, but it was heavenly, crisp and salty against my furry tongue. I needed to brush my teeth. Perhaps I’d buy a new toothbrush first.

“I’m going upstairs to put a load of laundry on. I’ll look for some pants for you.”

“Oh.”

I had no shame left, no embarrassment to gift him anymore. Rock bottom. I thought I’d finally hit it, sitting here covered in crumbs, an old T-shirt and no pants.

I had nothing to defend anymore.