[Iris thinks over the question as she works Cambridge's shoulder muscles, using the rhythmic long, smooth strokes of her hands as a way to ground her own nervousness. It's deceptively complicated.]

Buggered if I know. It's... It's not so much I didn't think of 'em, so much as I didn't let myself. Part of me can never quite believe it's for real, any road; even when I know it is.

[She pauses, considering, though her hands and her breathing keep moving at their own unhurried pace.]

I'm not sure I ever 'ave overcome it, no. I think it's so 'ard to really believe I matter to anyone that I act as if I don't. Even when I know that's not true.