I had been sitting on the floor, smoothing the corners of some of your oldest letters, readying myself to pen yet another note. The bolt of the door locked, a tap was turned on, and then one long, animalistic wail sounded out, followed by two solid hours of sobbing. I let her be for a while until the reality of two girls and one bathroom became an issue I could no longer ignore. I considered the practicalities of a wide-necked bottle. I even gave thought to the flexibility and aim required to hit the sink. But vanity prevailed and so I was left with no option but to intervene. Keeping my legs pressed as tightly together as I could I walked over to the door almost doubled over in agony. I knocked. No answer. I tried again. “You need in?” she said eventually, her voice cracked and distorted through swallowed tears. “Eve, what’s the problem, sweetheart? You can tell me. I could help.” There was a brief pause, then a reluctant sliding of the bolt, before the door opened with a creak.
