We walk out into the garden of remembrance, which is unusually quiet. She sits down on a bench and pats it. She’s trying so hard. She thinks this is going to be a mother-daughter chat and whatever I’ve got to tell her can’t be that bad. But it is. It really is.

‘He saved me,’ I tell her.

She frowns but stops herself from saying anything.

‘I was… I was in a panic, a real state. I’d failed and I didn’t want to go home and I didn’t know what to do. Everyone else was in the restaurant celebrating and I went for a walk on the deck in the rain. I wasn’t with them anymore. I didn’t have anyone to talk to and it was the worst time it could have happened, everything’s always worse when…’

This time she stops me because I am not making sense to her.

‘What’s always worse?’ she asks, confused.

‘Because it was the week before,’ I tell her, hoping she’ll get it.

‘Week before what? A date? An anniversary?’ I can tell she is searching her mind for dates about Dad.

‘No. It was never about Dad,’ I tell her and she moves away from me a little. I’m shouting. I try to lower my voice.

‘The week before is always the worst. The week before my period.’

She looks visibly relieved. She is thinking, ‘Oh, that again. Hope and her mood swings, hormonal, always been a bit overly sensitive.’ And I want to stand on the bench and rip my clothes off and show her the worst of me, what’s inside me right now crawling to get out. I want her to see me in the garden of remembrance amongst all the pretty flowers. All the ugly things I hide from her – all the weeds that wind their way through me, squeezing the life out of everything. But the tablets must be starting to work, I can feel the weeds but they can’t pull me under today. I carry on and tell her what I need to tell her, what I should have told her before.

‘I’ve got PMDD. I’m on tablets. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. I have to say it slowly because sometimes I get the D bits mixed up. These tablets, I think they’re working. I think I’m going to be alright,’ I tell her. I feel like the parent. She looks terrified. Acronyms are dangerous, they’re much scarier than real words. ‘Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder,’ I repeat, wondering if the words sound any better than the acronym.

‘What the bloody hell is that?’ I can see all the terrifying words racing through her mind. Cancer? Life threatening? Dying? Tablets? Hospital? Surgery? Gynaecologist?

‘It’s sort of like PMT but much worse, so much worse, but that’s the quick and easy way to explain it.’ And as soon as I’ve said PMT, the panic visibly shrinks from her eyes, and she looks relieved again. But it isn’t as straightforward as I’ve made it sound.

‘I get angry, violent, aggressive, irrational and can’t see or hear or realise what I’m doing or saying. Sometimes I don’t even remember what I’ve said. I don’t even see it the next day or the day after sometimes. I only see it when my period turns up – it’s like something bursts or clears and I see it all then – especially if there’s damage, like in my room, or words I’ve said. The words come back to me, late at night, when I’m trying to sleep. Then it all comes back to punch me in the face.’ I try to put it into my own words, rather than the formal language on the leaflet. ‘I can’t concentrate on what people are saying, sometimes I don’t even hear them,’ I tell her.

But it isn’t enough. There’s more.

‘I was on the ferry. It was chucking it down and I needed to get away from their laughing and celebrating and being disgustingly happy in their success. I hated them, even Callie. I know, Mum,I know,so don’t look at me like that. You know how I feel about Callie, that’s why I was so scared. If I felt like that about her, I knew there was something really wrong with me. Please, just let me get this out?’ I have to keep going. ‘I didn’t want to come home and face you, not that this is your fault, it really isn’t. I knew what we’d agreed to and once I told you that would be it – The End. So I went for a walk on the deck and it was raining and raining and it was making me even angrier. My hair wouldn’t stay out of my eyes and I was crying too and I climbed up onto the safety rail. I was screaming and shouting and crying and swearing and then I wobbled and someone – Riley – grabbed me and pulled me down. He isn’t a hero, actually he’s a bit of an arse, but he did save me. That’s who he is and that’s how we met.’ I look up at her. ‘That’s the truth. All of it, this time.’

‘But you weren’t actually going to do something stupid, were you? Were you really going to do that?’ She can’t bring herself to say suicide.

‘No.’ I tell her the truth. ‘I was raging but I wasn’t suicidal, I promise. But it’s just I can’t be sure of anything in that week: what I’m doing, where I’m going, if I’m safe or not. It’s a bit like being Alice in Wonderland, everything looks the same but it’s all changed, including me,’ I try to explain.

‘You don’t ever have to feel like that again. Nothing is too big or too awful that we can’t deal with it, together. I know you think that you’ve run out of choices, but you haven’t. You’re right at the start of everything and part of the adventure is not knowing what’s going to happen.’ She crushes me with her body, as if she can pour all her love into me. ‘And whatever happens, Hope, I will be there with you, every single step of the way.’ She kisses me hard on my cheek. ‘You are strong, smart and more than capable. I know it.’

I feel her heartbeat and I let go of something. I don’t know what exactly, but something leaves me. We sit and breathe in the strongly scented air as all the birds start singing.