Back in the flat the bathroom is spinning so I spin the opposite way, smashing both my elbows on the tiles. Then I fall on my knees and make woozy eyes at myself inside the bottom half of the looming mirror. I start sweet-talking my smeary reflection in a sibilant whisper, twitching on eyebrow up and nodding. I get bored with that, rock forward onto all fours and crawl off slippily down the dark hallway towards my bedroom, grazing my knees through my jeans as I go. My eyes are stinging and my skin has an electric tingle in the cold. Silence presses into my thoughts: when I'm making a setentious speech to someone I knew once. I sit down with my back against the radiator. I feel the burn of the cold metal through my cardigan. I hold a hand out and see myself blurring around the edges. Well ... either blurring or glowing ... I stand up and shake myself, clench my teeth to make myself calm. Then I go into the kitchen, take some of my donated crockery from the cupboard and start bowling it down the hallway. I wear myself out at that, and decide to make a nice ghoulish suburban scene for when Donna comes home. I crouch in a darkling corner, with my shoulders hunched, my knees drawn up and a faraway look in my eyes. Broken china round my bare feet. 'I have missed you' she says when she gets in and finds me. I feel a lot better. I don't hoover now, I just put my shoes back on and pick up the bigger plate shards, then find a black marker pen in the cutlery drawer and write on a sheet of our thick cream paper: BARE FEET BEWARE and lay it by the front door with the snow globe holding it in place.