Later, she would recall that as the very moment when she knew she had fallen for him. And the flush of hope that that thought too had provided: despite everything, she hadn’t yet given up on love.

*

Jules

‘I think I’m autistic,’ Jules announced to her therapist, ‘and I think I have ADHD.’

When she’d shared this with her mother last week, Nancy had laughed: ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she’d scolded. ‘You’re not a five-year-old boy.’ So Jules was prepared to list her reasons, which of her behaviours supported her theory, but Cindy simply tilted her head and nodded. ‘Oh, right,’ Jules said. ‘When did you know?’ she asked.

‘I was pretty sure after your first session and I’m completely sure now,’ she said.

‘Oh, okay.’ Jules smiled. ‘You could have shared that and saved me a lot of agonising,’ she said in a friendly tone. She was wearing a charcoal knitted wrap dress and Chelsea boots, but she had retrieved one of her old handbags from storage – a crystal-embellished predominantly gold clutch in the shape of a croissant, with red and white crystals studded on its underside to resemble a napkin (her personal stylist had deemed it ‘too garish’) – and was twisting its metallic chain around her fingers.

‘What would your response have been if I had?’ Cindy asked.

‘Fair point,’ she acknowledged. ‘It’s strange,’ she said. ‘It’s like I always knew but I didn’t know. When Alice, you know, one of my old friends, would talk about her daughter Charlotte, who’s autistic, I would really tune in. Like it meant something. And at the time I thought it was just because I wanted to support Alice – which I did – but at the same time, I knew there was something more there, and I wanted to ignore it.’

Her therapist nodded. ‘The subconscious is extremely powerful,’ is all she said.

‘I think that’s why my performance was patchy at work. When I was in hyper-focus, I was all over it, but I couldn’t sustain that for long periods. Even at school, if I struggled at something, like French, I had to work so hard at it, but I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, I went to extreme lengths to prove to myself – and my family, I suppose – that I could do anything. What teenager begs to work in a pharmacy in Paris to improve her French?’ She laughed. ‘I should have been snogging boys at youth club,’ she added wistfully. ‘And that weekend, the study drugs, for people with ADHD, I could notice the difference. It wasn’t good taking them like that, the wrong dosage, and I’m lucky I didn’t experience any side effects, but I think they could help me if I was prescribed them properly. I’ve got a referral from my doctor to be formally assessed,’ she added.

‘Lots of addicts have ADHD. You’re doing really well.’

Jules nodded. She wasn’t afraid of the word ‘addict’ any more. It was part of her story. In fact, she now introduced herself in GA meetings as a ‘recovering compulsive gambler’, no longer ashamed.