I can feel their concerned eyes boring into my back as I go into my room but, having talked it out with Tash and now them, I feel there’s nothing really left to say. I’m wrung out and dog-tired as I climb under the covers, but my dreams are full of recrimination. In one, Richenda is blaming me for leading her precious son astray while Cindy looks on, her eyes burning red with hatred. In another, Luke is trying to sweet-talk me into bed, only the bed is in the maternity unit of the hospital and Cindy is already on it, pushing out the largest baby I think I’ve ever seen. The weirdest ones of all, though, are the ones in between them. Of all the people to be featuring in my dreams tonight, I wasn’t expecting Jonathan Barwell and Will, but I’m glad they’re here. In amongst all the madness of my head, they’re providing welcome doses of calm. I may not be able to make head nor tail of the crossword clues that Jonathan is calling out, but Will is telling me it’s OK, that he’s got everything under control and I don’t need to worry. I know he’s talking about the situation with his father rather than me, but I find it reassuring nonetheless.

16

It’s Thursday afternoon and I still haven’t heard anything from Richenda about what Cindy plans to do or how I’m supposed to handle the rendezvous with Luke tomorrow if it goes ahead. I’m a complete jangle of nerves and I’ve never been so grateful for the pressure of work to keep my mind off things. After a certain amount of thought, I’ve concocted a story involving a nasty case of thrush that I can wheel out tomorrow in case Richenda doesn’t come through, but I’ve been phone watching all day. I’m now trying to distract myself by visiting Jonathan again; he’s made great progress and is on the verge of being allowed home, now that Will has organised to stay with him. The mental health team appear to have decided to accept his story that it was a one-off and that he doesn’t pose an ongoing risk to himself, but are nonetheless reassured that he won’t be alone. His liver also seems to have escaped the worst of the damage he could have inflicted on it, although it will be closely monitored with regular blood tests.

‘I know this is irregular, Tilly,’ he says to me when we’ve completed the latest crossword, ‘but I’d like to invite you to Sunday lunch with us sometime, as a way of saying thank you.’

‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ I assure him. ‘It was a team effort, anyway. I’m just glad to see you doing so well.’