She says, I was underwater with Sarah, who’d panicked, down there, in the car, sneering at death and her seatbelt; we’d driven off the bridge, so I stood on the roof of the car, tiptoed, and yelled, ‘I won’t die here, I am invincible, a goddess’, and then the farmer turned up with his tractor, and his dog, and pulled us out. She was high that day, but deep down she had drowned, and from that time onwards, as she admitted, she hadn’t given any of this a thought. That, she said, is what it is to be survivor, and she pulled out the biggest bag of cocaine I had ever seen east of Cefn Coed-y-cymmer.