‘Except Margaret,’ the three of us said in unison.

I was feeling better enough to call Margaret a lickarse twenty or thirty times. ‘Lickarse,’ we all agreed. ‘Yeah, lickarse. The big lickarse.’

‘So you mean you got wrecked just because Mum told you to get out and never come back?’ Helen endeavoured to understand.

‘I suppose,’ I shrugged, embarrassed at how puerile that sounded.

‘You thick-looking wuss,’ she said kindly. ‘Just tell her to feck off like I always do. Or ask her who’s going to mind her in her old age.’

‘I’m not like you,’ I pointed out.

‘You’d better learn to be,’ Helen suggested. ‘Toughen up, you’re too much of a baba. You can’t go round nearly getting killed every time Mum – or anyone – shouts at you, you won’t last five minutes.’

That was the warning Josephine had given me. My head clanged as I suddenly understood what she’d been on about when she said I had unresolved tension with Mum. I’d nodded and agreed with her, but I’d forgotten all the advice she’d given me the minute some of said unresolved tensions raised their heads.

I’d failed my first test in the real world.

I’d know better the next time.

‘When she goes mad at you again, ignore her.’ Helen beamed encouragingly, reading my thoughts. ‘So what if she tells you you’re crap? You’ve got to believe in yourself.’

‘Anyway, she doesn’t even mean it,’ Anna chipped in.

‘Only with you,’ Helen said to her.

I felt the black, smoggy cloud of misery lift from me. It was a wonderful revelation to find out that my sisters felt as picked on by Mum as I always had. That the only difference between us was in our attitudes. They regarded it as amusing sparring, but I’d taken it far too much to heart. And I’d better stop.

‘Do you feel better now about Mum?’ Anna asked gently. ‘She only lost the head because she was afraid when you didn’t come home. That night she was hysterical thinking you might take drugs with that Chris. People say things they don’t mean when they’re worried.’

She added sheepishly ‘I was worried myself.’

‘Clean and serene, that’s you, isn’t it Anna?’ Helen stretched and yawned. ‘How long is it since you’ve had a drug?’

‘Never you mind,’ Anna said haughtily. And a squabble broke out, but I hardly heard them, because I was suddenly assailed by guilt and shame. Different guilt and shame from the ones that had been torturing me since I’d come to. Guilt and shame about what I’d done to Mum. Of course she’d been worried, I realized, with horrible clarity. I’d only been out of the Cloisters less than a week. I was an addict, it had been my first trip to the outside world, with a person who was a well-known bad influence, and I hadn’t come home. If she’d thought the worst, she had been well within her rights. I deserved to be roared at.

She’d accused me of being selfish. And she was right. I’d been really selfish. I was so wrapped up in myself and Chris that I couldn’t see how frightened for me she’d been. I resolved to humbly apologize as soon as I saw her.

I was starting to feel quite good until I remembered that my fight with Mum wasn’t the only thing that was weighing heavy on my brain.

‘I’m a failure,’ I reminded Helen and Anna. ‘I took drugs.’

‘So what?’ they clamoured.

So what? I thought in disgust. They clearly had no idea how serious the situation was.

‘Don’t take them again.’ Helen shrugged. ‘It’s like being on a diet. Just because you go mental and eat seven Mars bars one day doesn’t mean that you can’t start your diet again the next day. All the more reason to, in fact.’

‘If only it was that simple,’ I said sadly.

‘It is that fucking simple,’ Helen said, sounding irritated. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

‘Fuck off,’ I muttered.

‘Fuck off yourself,’ she replied equably.

She made it sound so reasonable. As if I’d just over reacted. Maybe I had overreacted, I thought hopefully. That would be wonderful, to find out that everything was salvageable.

Mum arrived in the room after Helen and Anna had left. I sat up in the bed, nervous and anxious to apologize, but she beat me to it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, abject misery on her face.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I insisted, a lump in my throat. ‘You’re right. I was selfish and thoughtless and I’m mortified about worrying you so much. But I won’t do it ever again, I swear.’

She came and sat on my bed.

‘I’m sorry for the terrible things I said.’ She hung her head. ‘I overreacted. But it’s just my way, I didn’t mean any harm. It’s only because I want the best for you…’

‘I’m sorry for being such a bad daughter,’ I said, feeling deeply ashamed.

‘You’re not!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re not at all. Weren’t you always a pet, the most affectionate, the best of the lot of them.

‘My baby,’ she wailed, flinging herself around me. ‘My little girl.’

A torrent of tears gushed from me at her words. I fell into her arms and sobbed as she stroked my hair and shushed me.

‘I’m sorry about Margaret’s Easter egg,’ I eventually managed to say.

‘Don’t!’ Mum exclaimed wetly. ‘I could’ve cut my tongue out. The minute the words were said…’

And I’m sorry for embarrassing you by being a drug addict,’ I said humbly.

‘You’re not to be,’ she said, wiping my tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘Sure, it could be miles worse. Hilda Shaw is having a baby. Another one. And she’s still not married. And, wait till you hear,’ she suddenly dropped her voice to hushed tones, even though there was only me and her in the room, ‘Angela Kilfeather is after deciding she’s a lesbian…’

Imagine! Angela Kilfeather, of the blonde ringlets that as a child I was so jealous of, was a lezzer!

‘… and parades up and down the road french-kissing her…’ Mum paused, almost unable to say it, ‘… girlfriend. Sure, a drug addict is nothing compared to that. Marguerite Kilfeather probably thinks I’m dead lucky.’