‘Have you told him that? The truth?’

‘The truth. It sounds so perfect, doesn’t it? So simple. But sometimes we think the right thing is to lie. And then there’s no way back.’ Kerry takes a swig of wine. ‘I’ve been lying to you too, Joel. For years.’

‘What about?’

‘About what happened on millennium night. About who it was that saved you, or hurt you, or however you see it now. It was me who pounded up and down on your chest so hard you felt like your ribs were cracked. Me who did the CPR.’

‘No. It was Tim. He told me himself.’

‘All this time, you were blaming the wrong person. He froze for . . . well, it was less than ten minutes but it felt like years.’

My brain can’t process this. My imagined version of that night’s events scrambles and I try to remake it but . . . ‘Why would you lie about something like that?’

She scoffs. ‘It was meant to protect Tim but it’s all backfired. See? I’ve screwed everything up too.’

I say nothing.

‘I should have told you years ago and I’m sorry.’ When I still don’t reply, she stands up. ‘Coming here with you, it was a mistake. It’s dredged everything up again. But at least you know the truth, and now we can all move on.’

When I say nothing, she mutters something about cancelling the food order – like that matters – and I watch her leave.

I let my head drop onto the table. All those times I blamed Tim for my incomplete life, for losing football, for the bump in my flesh where the ICD sits . . . What would have been different if I’d known it was Kerry all along? She lied to me from the first moment I woke up. Thousands of lies, for years.

But I’m not angry. What must it have cost her to keep this hidden? She did what she thought was best. Can I ever say that about myself?

No. I’ve been self-obsessed and weak and full of hate for so long. No wonder I liked drugs so much. They stopped me remembering what a bad person I am.

And if I’ve ever needed something to take the edge off, it’s now. Even here in the sticks, I bet I can spot the guy in this bar who’d know where to get hold of what I need. Takes one to know one.

Nothing too heavy. Some weed or . . .

But the sticky wood of the tabletop reminds me of the many floors I’ve passed out on. Compared to Zoë and Ham, I’m so bloody lucky. There has always been someone to pick me up when I fell: my parents, Ant. Kerry. The woman who saved my life.