My counsellor’s name is Earl and he’s the same age as me, and multiply pierced. The room where we meet is as alt-Brighton as he is, with tie-dye cushions and a miasma of joss sticks.

I sit in an IKEA chair that’s identical to one in my second London bedsit. When Earl smiles, the stud in his cheek twitches and I think of how many infected piercings I’ve had to treat over the years.

Half an hour ago, I was in control. All the patients who I’d treated during my shift were still breathing, and no one had gone beyond the target waiting time. Now . . .

‘How does this work?’ I ask him.

‘However you want it to.’

Is that it? I am paying forty-five pounds per fifty-minute session, money I could be putting towards flying hours or even a deposit on a flat, and this so-called expert is pushing all the responsibility back onto me?

‘How long does it usually take until I’m better?’

The smile doesn’t falter. ‘There is no usual. Everyone is unique. It could be a few sessions, or months. Even years.’

I close my eyes. Certainty is what I want: a clear prognosis, an aggressive treatment plan.

‘People often start by telling me what brought them here.’

I open my eyes again. There’s a window facing my chair and a tree beyond that, silhouetted against a blue sky. It is a beautiful day and I’d rather be anywhere but here . . . I am about to say so, when it comes back, the wave of disintegration I experienced in the Piper.

I want to find the words to tell him about it but instead I start to cry, and the tears flow so violently that I don’t know if fifty minutes will be long enough to let them all out.

Chapter 59: Joel

12 June 2015

No one argues with Olivia Coombs. It’s one of the qualities that makes her such a brilliant producer/director.

It also makes her bloody awkward as a life partner.

‘You have to be willing to take a risk, Joel. Otherwise, what’s the point of us being together?’

I close the doors to the terrace, so our neighbours won’t hear. I’ve got a hunch this is gonna get heated and even though I’m sub-Z-list on the celebrity scale, there’s no guarantee someone won’t post our arguments on social media.

‘Liv, I’m not saying never. But I’m not ready now. Not yet.’

‘The genetic odds aren’t going to improve, are they? And my fertility is declining year on year. It’s logical to start trying now. Unless you don’t want kids with me.’

The honest answer is I’m not sure I want any more kids with anyone.