I immediately acquiesce, going round to the other side of the bed and drawing him close to me. When he’s had a seizure, he’s a total cuddle monster. It seems to ground him a bit.

I look around the room properly for the first time. “Why is there a bath in the bedroom?”

“It’s supposed to be decadent,” he says sleepily.

“It’s actually like something from an early episode of Emmerdale. Couldn’t they afford walls to make a room for it? What’s that called? Oh, I know. A bathroom.”

“It’s sexy.”

“It’s penny-pinching.” He snorts, and I shake my head. “So, Harry has booked a room with a bath right in front of the bed to remind you how much you miss having a bath.” I sniff. “Cunt. I’m surprised that you actually fuck this man, Charlie. I marvel at it whenever I have a spare minute.”

“Well, that must be a lot, then. You bankers don’t really do much.” I pinch him, and he laughs. “I haven’t fucked him for ages, anyway,” he mutters.

“Really?” I try not to let my delight at that news saturate my voice, but I’m not entirely sure that I succeed. I also work hard not to examine why I feel like that. Dry few weeks, I reassure myself.

Charlie shrugs. “I think my hole might have sealed up by now. There are so many cobwebs over the entrance it could be on the set of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“They’re digging in the wrong place, Indy,” I mutter, and he laughs.

I shift position slightly, feeling my muscles tense up. “I’m going to ring the hospital and make you an emergency appointment,” I say quickly, getting the words out in a mad rush before he can shut me down. I brace myself for open warfare, but it’s a sign of how bad he feels that he doesn’t even argue. That makes cold tendrils of fear sneak down my back. “You can’t keep ignoring this, Charlie. You have to see a professional so they can assess you.” I swallow hard. “People die from this condition and you’re leaving it untreated,” I whisper. “Please don’t do that, Charlie.”

There’s a long enough silence for me to prepare for a tongue lashing, but he must have heard the stark fear in my voice because he reaches back and pats my hip. “Okay,” he whispers.

I sag with relief. “You’ll go?”

He nods. “The number’s in my phone.”

“Thank you,” I say fervently and kiss his shoulder. The skin is as soft as silk there.

We lie silent for a second and then he mutters, “Play me something.”

I reach out for my phone on the side table and fiddle with Spotify before connecting to the Bluetooth speaker. The sound of “Tear” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers slips out.