I awoke the next day knowing that I had no codeine left. I hadn’t told Charlie that I’d run out because I didn’t want her to worry about me. We’d had a relaxing evening, eating a curry, watching a Johnny Depp film, going to bed early. She’d told me that it would be a bit weird to send anything to Kristi but that maybe I should ask the cleaning agency if they had a collection for her, which seemed like an excellent idea.

The sun was out again and although it was cold and icy outside I felt optimistic that I would be able to go outside soon. This hope helped get me through the morning, but by lunchtime the pain had crept back into my leg so I swallowed a couple of Nurofen. It took the edge off. But as I tried to work in the afternoon, I couldn’t concentrate. I felt sick and the computer screen hurt my eyes, no matter how I fiddled with the brightness controls. The inside of my head felt tight, like there were metal bands squeezing my brain, and the noise of the traffic in the distance penetrated my skull. I could feel the blood throbbing in my veins.

Codeine is addictive, I heard the nurse from yesterday say, and I realised: I was dependent. The moment this thought entered my head, even though the ibuprofen was keeping the pain mostly at bay, I needed codeine. Could think about nothing else. When I was seventeen, during my most nihilistic period following my parents’ deaths, I had taken up smoking. I smoked for only a few years but I would never forget the struggle to give up, how I had barely been able to think of anything else as the nicotine left my system.

I paced about the flat on my crutches, then went for a lie down. What now seemed like a harsh winter sun penetrated the windows, causing little dots to dance about in front of my eyes. Oh my God, I thought. My retina is detaching again. I stared at the white sheet – I had forgotten to put the bedding in the wash yesterday and it stank of sweat and semen – and tried to work out if there was a dark shadow in my eye.

Get a grip, I told myself. It’s the withdrawal, making you paranoid. I lay down and closed my eyes, remembering something with a start.

The bottle of pills Charlie had left in the bathroom cabinet – or, to be precise, the bottle that Kristi had put there along with the toiletries. That had been codeine!

I jumped up from the bed, momentarily forgetting all about my sprained knee. I yelled with pain and fell onto my side. Ah, fuck. That hurt. I lay there for a moment laughing at myself. For God’s sake, man, sort yourself out.