I blush. This feels embarrassing, him witnessing my excitement. ‘You should try it.’

‘No one is ever going to let me do that with an ICD, are they?’

‘They might.’ But I remember the forms I had to fill in, and the disclaimer I signed. They definitely wouldn’t.

‘Ah, fuck it, I never liked heights much anyway. But you do. You’ve got this wild look. Happy, though. No offence but these last few weeks, I haven’t seen you smile once. And now you can’t stop. You look like the old Kerry again.’

‘You make me sound like a right miserable bitch.’

‘Detox isn’t a laugh a minute for anyone, is it?’

We’re back to how we were back then, for a moment. All the justified anger on my part, all the self-loathing on his, forgotten. It’s not embarrassing for him to see how much I love this.

It’s intimate.

The gap between us narrows – I can’t tell if he’s moving towards me or me him or both – and I look at his lips and remember how it felt to kiss them, and oh, how much do I want to feel that way again . . .

The cheers behind us as the last abseiler lands on the ground snap me back to reality.

‘Right, back to Brighton before rush hour,’ I say, backing off and trying to remember where I parked the car. What the hell was that about? Joel broke my heart. And he’s a junkie. I’d have to be a masochist to get involved again.

As I drive us home, he bombards me with questions about my other challenges, as though he’s scared I might say something about what almost happened.

When I pull up outside Girasol, he is still talking, fast, and it takes me a moment to tune into what he’s saying.

‘. . . and I could do it too.’

‘Do what?’

‘One of your mad sponsored things. I want to get fit again. I could raise something for your favourite charity.’

‘You really don’t have to, Joel . . .’

‘I’d like to. If you and Ant aren’t going to let me die, I’d better find something to keep me occupied.’

Chapter 32: Joel

22 June 2004

‘Promise me you’ve taken all your meds?’ Kerry says.

We’re alone by the beach on the first morning of training. It’s too early for the rest of Brighton, the lazy sods. They’re missing out on a trippy haze that makes the sea and sky blend into one.

‘What are you, my mum?’

She tuts. ‘No. But you already messed up my medical career once, and the last thing I need is another arrhythmia on my watch.’

‘Sure. Sorry.’ I stretch out my quad, showing her what to do. My repertoire of stretches comes back to me easily, like the lyrics of an old song.