My new lifestyle and finding the right mix of medication gradually began to work, and the turns eased off until they were non-existent. I felt happy, good about my chances for conquering the worst of my condition. I was coming up to a full year without a turn, which meant I could drive again rather than walking or busing everywhere. Then one day, eight months ago, I had a turn in a supermarket. Over the next several months, I began having more and more, and now I’m having one or two a day again.

I push that worry away and smile at my best friend. “Thank you for bringing the bracelet,” I say softly. “I know that’s the real reason you jettisoned work, and you shouldn’t have.”

He grins. His teeth are white and even, and his smile contains its usual sardonic edge. “For you, anything,” he says and nudges me. “Can’t have any harm come to my flatmate.”

“Yes, who would pay the mortgage?” I say lightly. “You’d really struggle if my massive wages petered out.”

“You council employees. Always earning the big bucks.”

“The only exposure we’d have to big bucks is if a male deer ran through the fucking building.”

Misha laughs, and I hug him tight.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.

He nods. “I’ll pick you up outside.”

“That’s out of your way, Misha,” I immediately protest.

He shrugs. “You’re here. Therefore, it’s in my way.”

* * *

Later on, I set the alarm and pull the back door of the library closed, locking it and testing it like normal. I can feel tiredness dragging my body down, and it’s compounded by the headache pulsing at the back of my skull. I had a turn this afternoon, and I must have hit my shoulder on something as I went down, because the area feels tender and sore.

From the beginning, I insisted that my seizures be called turns because the word “seizure” sounded horribly medical to me. Misha says “turn” makes me sound like I’m auditioning for a role in Cabaret, but I still persist.

The car park is dark apart from the thin light that emanates from the security lamp over the door. Hearing footsteps, I spin round and then immediately relax when I see Misha coming towards me.

“Are you on your own?” he demands.

“Why, Mister Lebedinsky,” I say in dulcet tones, fluttering my eyelashes. “Were you lying in wait to launch an attack on my virtue?”

“I’m about twelve years and ten miles away from a crack at that.” I laugh, and he shakes his head. “Why is it so fucking dark around here, Charlie?”

“Because night has fallen.” He stares beadily at me. “And the owner of the car park hasn’t replaced the bulb in the security light.”

“Have you told him that he needs to?”