As I handed over my credit card—issued from a New York bank, not that the doctor was in any way bothered—the high cost almost cancelled out my relief.

Because I was a ‘tourist’ it couldn’t be claimed back on my insurance and I wondered what to say to Luke if he saw it on the statement. Maybe I could pretend it was dental work? Or…Botox?

He’d freak out at Botox.

But not as much as he’d freak out at Ambien.

Even so, I’d managed to make the whole thing small and not important: I’d needed to sleep, I’d been resourceful.

But sitting in the Abbot’s Quarter, quizzing Boyd, the memory of what I’d done suddenly astounded me. I’d gone to a doctor—the third doctor I’d seen in perhaps two months—and lied.

Even at the time my crappy, bullshit story had embarrassed me, and it was obvious that the doctor hadn’t believed it either. We’d both come away sullied by the charade.

Luke had asked me what I’d think if a client told me my story. I had to admit that visiting more than one doctor, lying to them and hiding it all from my husband was addiction 101.

As the knowledge settled, my whole body went cold. Goosebumps broke out on my skin.

Back then, I’d taken my sanctimonious spurning of the offer of Xanax as proof that I was in control. Certain that if I simply decided to not get addicted to sleeping pills that I wouldn’t.

But I had.

…or had I?

69

I couldn’t think about it. Not now. I was going to Barcelona with Quin, I needed to be together. I’d think about it when I got back. I’d worry about it then.

Although maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. Maybe everything was fine.

At home, Kate and Devin were all glee and hilarity because Crunchie was wearing a bonnet.

‘She wanted to wear it,’ Kate insisted. ‘She pulled it out of the drawer.’

Crunchie seemed happy enough, which was a relief because Kate and Devin were babysitting her for the weekend and I didn’t want them treating her as a dressing-up doll. ‘Are they laughing at you?’ I asked in my special Crunchie voice. ‘Are they making fun of you?’

‘We’re totally not,’ Devin said. ‘She looks like a wise woman—’

‘—from a Jane Austen series,’ Kate finished.

‘Yeah!’ Devin high-fived Kate.

Maybe she did. Crunchie’s brown eyes were very kind and perhaps shrewd.

Or, much more likely, I was just biased.

Up in my bedroom, I finished packing, throwing a couple of short, going-out dresses and a pair of teetery-heeled shoes into my wheelie case. The night at Jake’s Place, when Quin had complained that he never saw my legs, I’d felt bad for him.

There was no harm in being nice, especially at the moment.