The door opens at 10.02 a.m. and in walks Atticus, without knocking. Dan knows he should stand up and introduce himself, protocol, professionalism, but the order of the universe flips over in a second too brief for him to count. Dan thinks it might have something to do with Atticus’s shoes. A man confident enough to wear tongue-pink tasselled suede loafers cannot possibly require any of the knowledge Dan has gleaned from his person-centred counselling degree. The shoes have spoken, have clicked their heels together three times, and, without a word, Dan is the patient and Atticus the counsellor. Because of this, Atticus does the introductions.

‘Daniel James, I’m Atticus. Your ten o’clock.’

It’s just a sentence, but the way he speaks makes it a statement, a question and a suggestion all at the same time. Dan jumps up in the same instant that Atticus flops down onto the sofa, kicks off his loafers and flings his arms above his head. One shoe hits an ornamental Chinese vase that sits inside the disused fireplace. It wobbles, and they both watch to see if it will fall. Dan tells himself that if it smashes he will have reasonable grounds to refuse to offer therapy to Atticus.

‘Prone to aggression,’ he’ll tell Alan. ‘Best referred to Anger Management.’ It’s not Dan’s speciality.

As the vase quivers, Dan practises the line ‘Sorry, I can’t be your therapist. Here’s a referral to a colleague I trust’ in his head so that it won’t sound too forced. Or relieved.

The vase finally stops vacillating, choosing to remain erect and intact. Dan tells himself to make eye contact. He feels like he’s been shot when they look at one another that first time. He has to glance down at his clipboard just so that he can breathe. He had clutched it to his chest when he stood up and knows he looks awkward now but doesn’t know how to be anything else.

He tries to commit to a seat. Normally, he would take the blue chair next to the sofa, but today there doesn’t seem to be enough space between the two pieces of furniture. Atticus is sprawled out, long limbs stretching into the middle of the room. Dan has to walk carefully around them as he makes his way to the red chair in the corner, which is only there to cover the damp on the wall. NHS. Cuts. Lack of funding. Old buildings.

Dan knows Atticus is studying him from his spot on the sofa. He dips an eyebrow at Dan’s socks as if to say, ‘Star Wars? How very cool of you,’ but by the time his gaze drifts back to Dan’s face the smirk has been replaced with a lazy grin that Dan instantly understands is his trademark.