‘Did you have a good weekend?’ Pryia asks me on our morning break. I wonder if she really wants to know or if she’s doing that small talk thing adults do.

‘Actually it’s been the first decent weekend I’ve had in ages,’ I reply. She waits for more. ‘My best friend and I made up. We hadn’t really had a major argument but there was some stuff to work out, an atmosphere, almost worse than if we had just shouted at each other and got on with it,’ I babble on, not quite sure if I’m making sense.

‘I have those with Katie sometimes. I want to say how I really feel but I’ll pretend I’m tired or work’s a pain because the argument would make things worse.’

I nod slowly because she gets it. I’m surprised.

‘So what was the non-argument about?’ Pryia unwraps a cereal bar.

‘Everything really, but it’s my fault, not hers.’ I’m not sure what to tell her.

‘And now she’s off to drama college?’

‘Yes. Well, she’s got to get through the auditions first, but she’s an amazing actress,’ I add trying to sound convincing. Callie deserves her place but I can’t keep out of my voice the shameful notes of jealousy.

‘But not you? Your mum said you changed your plans? Owen and I were wondering why you’re interested in Singing Medicine. Well, I was, Owen couldn’t care less to be honest.’ Pryia smiles apologetically.

‘What did Mum tell you?’ I hate that people have been talking about me.

Mum has been filling me in on all the staff as we’re travelling to and from the hospital, so I know all about the secret superhero screenplay Pryia’s writing, and Owen’s cello lessons not going well despite his girlfriend’s help and Nikhil’s Pilates classes and his growing fan base, which now includes my mum.

‘Just that it didn’t work out in Dublin. It’ll work out somewhere, though, won’t it?’ she asks with the casual air of someone who’s already doing what they should be doing.

‘Not for me,’ I try to keep the self-pity out of my voice but fail. ‘I’m not going to drama college now.’

‘But you’ll think of something else,’ she starts but I can’t let her carry on.

‘What if I don’t though? What if I just drift from one thing to the next? Everything else is going to feel second best. I wanted to act, that’s the only thing I wanted to do,’ I admit as the panic crawls out of my mouth.

‘Things change. Might take you longer to find out what your new thing will be,’ she says simply. I’m so used to sympathy or commiserations, or people telling me not to give up, but she doesn’t do that. There’s not a drop of pity in her voice and I’m not sure how to react to it.

‘Oh.’

‘So, while you’re working all of that out, we’ll keep you busy here, but this time don’t leave me hanging.’ She prods my arm and I have no idea what she’s on about. ‘It’s not easy to do a round when one of you has forgotten to sing!’

I don’t have anything to say so I keep quiet.

‘When you’ve been on the wards with us a few days more, you’ll get to know all the songs we sing and then you won’t have an excuse.’ I wonder if she’s joking but when I look at her face it’s pretty clear she isn’t. She’s on to me, but I’ve got nothing for her: no words, no information, no real explanation. I just can’t sing. My voice has gone and I’ve no idea when it’ll come back, if it’ll come back. I follow her back out to the ward, to a sterile stage where there’s nowhere to escape, no lines or costume to hide behind and no make-up to transform me into someone else.