‘You should get that cat a leash!’

‘That’s what Tommy said.’ I don’t know why, but this makes a bubble of happiness swell inside me. We fall into step, circling the pond, no words shared or tossed between us. I have an image of us, in twenty or thirty years, walking like this, my hand in his, or his gently resting at the base of my spine. There’s something of the old-fashioned gentleman about him, and this doesn’t make me want to toy with him, or run away from him, as I would have in my earlier incarnation. Is this my ‘post-recovery’ self, one who just had a blip, a sober person who can appreciate the quality of silence, the breeze touching my cheeks, the rustling trees, the ripples in the water, the sleeping ducks bobbing peacefully? Today there are no duck attacks, no swans hissing. All is serene, and I don’t feel the need to rip the fuck out of the fabric of that peace.

‘Have you spoken to your father yet about what he told social services?’

The mention of the words ‘social services’ immediately leaches any remnants of calm.

‘You may need to hire a solicitor.’

Talk about blurring boundaries. Is he angling for a job here? I don’t need this right now; what I need is forgetting time. Still too shaky and vulnerable after my bender to be able to grapple with this.

‘You’ve gone very quiet. Hope this isn’t too much of a shock to hear. I’d have thought your father would have made you aware of the legal situation and its ramifications.’

Ram your ramifications up your arse. Silently hum the tune to a waltz I danced to in an avant-garde production of Pride and Prejudice. Picture myself on set, wearing a corset, a crinoline-style dress, shot silk, pale blue, and suspenders.

‘I think the whole middle-class thing will work in your favour.’

This is going to be the hardest acting job ever. All the characters I have played up to now were able to give full vent to their passions and furies. My new character is called Ms Sanity, and Sanity has to hide her truth at all costs, Sanity has to smile and suppress, Sanity has to present a neatly packaged front to the world. My audience would no doubt be bored of Ms Sanity within minutes.

30

‘Dad?’

‘Sonya, it’s very early.’ His tongue sounds thick with tiredness.

‘Sorry. Can’t sleep. Need to know which pound you put Herbie into.’

‘Wait a minute, can you?’

I hear him rustling about, careful not to wake Lara beside him. Sound of his footsteps padding downstairs, then the tap gushing.

‘What did you say, Sonya? Are you aware it’s not even six a.m.?’

‘It’s my new regime. Where did you leave Herbie?’

‘A decent sort I know from golf took him in.’

‘Can you give me his number?’

‘I thought you’d be glad that the dog has found stability.’

‘Dad. Please give me this man’s number. I need to get Herbie back.’