‘Did you bring it with you from my flat?’ ‘Not your flat, not anymore. No point paying rent when you’re not living there. I’ve packed up your stuff and taken it to mine. Most of it you won’t really need.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I ask as Jackie hands me a drink – apple juice and ice, a little bent straw. ‘I don’t want you throwing anything away. That’s mine. It belongs to me.’
