So he told her about the acid – the times it had been great, and also the one time it had felt so wrong, at the farm; and then the spiked drink at the party – and she wrote it all down in her notes.

‘OK, well, thank you for being so open with me about what you’re experiencing. The more we communicate, the more we can help you. We can certainly get you feeling better, but a lot of it will be up to you, ultimately. It’s good that we’ve got some beds available, so you can stabilize. I’ll see you again in a day or two.’

A nurse came round before lunch and took out the saline drip and handed him an egg-cup-sized plastic pot. There were three tablets in it: two capsules and a small, pale blue pill. She handed him a paper cup with an inch or two of water in the bottom and stood over him while he gulped them down. A little while later, the same person who’d offered him the ice-cream the day before appeared, bringing soup. There was a white bread roll and a little gold-topped pack of butter to go with it. It reminded Stephen of aeroplane food and this was somehow comforting. There wasn’t any ice-cream, this time, just tinned fruit salad, with or without Instant Whip.

He dozed. He felt slightly groggy and didn’t seem to need to listen to music, or read; it was enough just to take it easy. It felt like an exertion to walk down to the bathrooms along the corridor, past the nurses’ station. He noticed that the toilets didn’t have locks on the doors. There were a couple of shower stalls, uncurtained, and the hot water felt calming, falling on to his shoulders and down his front. He’d had to ask a nurse if there was any shampoo he could use and she’d found him a bottle from somewhere. Having clean hair felt great; it made him feel more in control of himself, of his body.

The next day – or was it the one after that, he’d lost track of time in there – Glen came to see him, bringing his case and duffel bag. He seemed nervous.

‘You don’t want to stay too long in here, mate, I’ll tell you. They’ve got some real loons along there, in the TV room.’

‘I think they’re letting me out soon, maybe after the weekend.’

‘Right you are,’ said Glen. He stood, shifting from foot to foot as if he was warming up to go out on to a sports field. He seemed to take up too much room.

Stephen couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘I’m sorry about that … what happened.’

Glen shrugged. ‘Just one of those things, isn’t it. You’ll be fine now.’

‘Thanks for coming in. For bringing my stuff.’