Suddenly I was wide awake, assailed by catastrophic thinking. No way could I keep living in this house if I had to listen on the regular to a Costello man doing sex noises in the room next door. I’d have to move out. Or Kate would.

…But poor Kate, that brutal commute from Claire’s. No, it would have to be me. I’d move in with Quin and find someone to help pay my mortgage by sharing with Kate. A young, easy-going type, who didn’t mind a home with inadequate sound insulation.

But I couldn’t take things with Quin to the next level just to escape Luke Costello’s nephew.

Or could I?

It had taken me hours to get back to sleep, only to land right into a nightmare. It was New York, more than twenty years ago, and Luke was yelling, ‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not, I’m not, Luke, I’m not,’ I stuttered with fear.

‘But I’ve found your hiding places! See!’ Dramatically, he ripped a strip of paper from the wall and hundreds of tablets tumbled out, bouncing to the floor and around the room. ‘Why did you lie? You know that’s worse than taking drugs.’

At the start of the dream, we were both in our twenties, then, as happens in dreams, we changed and looked like we do now, him with his shorter hair and unfamiliar coat, me with my smooth Botoxy forehead and new sneakers.

When I woke up, I was shaking. God, that had been awful. Since that phone call from Joey Armstrong, so many long-buried feelings had been flung to the surface.

It was 7 a.m., anyway, nearly time to get up. Then I heard, ‘It’s so squeaky!’

So, they were awake.

Moments later, one of them (Devin, it transpired) went into the bathroom and shut the door. Then opened it again and called, ‘Which shower gel do I use?’

‘The Origins one. Guess why?’

‘Because it’s so squeaky?’

‘Yeah!’

He laughed, she laughed, they probably laughed next door in Benigno and Jasline’s, Crunchie was doubtless in convulsions downstairs in the kitchen. Good job I was already awake, I wanted to yell.

Then it occurred to me that I’d have to wait until Devin finished because the heating system couldn’t handle two hot showers simultaneously. Breathing angrily, I stomped about, organizing my clothes, only to remember that all of my T-shirts were in the airing cupboard.

The shower was still running. Good stuff, I thought, I was safe. So, out I went—and disaster struck.