The look on the man’s face implies that he thinks gin and tonic is a girl’s drink but he isn’t going to argue. He lifts his elbow and flips the lid off the tonic bottle with an intense fzzzt! sound and tosses the packet of nuts on the counter top. Andrew goes to the corner opposite the old man. He takes a sip of the drink, tears open the packet of nuts and pours a pile of them into his palm, then does that thing that only men do: at least, I’ve never seen a woman do it. He raises the palmful of nuts to his mouth in one swift lever motion and tips them in, shovelling them in in one go. I’m guessing the nuts were what he really wanted and the gin and tonic was just an excuse. He leans back in his seat while he crunches the nuts in his mouth, rests his head on the wall behind him, closes his eyes.

I watch his face. He looks older than his years. He is hungry, exhausted – he wants to be anywhere but here and to be doing anything except what he is about to do.

Andrew, my lovely young man, I’m so very sorry.

After a moment, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he withdraws it and reads a text from Ruth. I’m here. I’m outside. You here yet? Xx

He texts back. Nearly there. Go in. I’ll be there soon. Xx

*

The therapist is called Isobel. She says hello to Ruth, nodding, introduces herself to Andrew and shakes his hand, gestures for them to sit in two upright chairs on one side of a low coffee table. On the coffee table is a box of tissues, with one pulled halfway out, all ready and waiting. Isobel sits on another upright chair. Andrew and Ruth’s chairs are some way apart so all three of them are sitting at the points of an isosceles triangle.

Isobel – she’s around forty, I’m guessing, small and dark, a calm air – turns to Andrew and says, ‘Well, before we start I just wanted to say thank you for coming, Andrew. I know this is something you have reservations about and these things are always difficult, but it’s a very good sign that you’ve been able to come along and I wanted you to know that I, and Ruth, appreciate it.’

Andrew gives a terse nod. He looks as though he wishes he could be the hedgehog at the bottom of his garden and curl up into a small, spiky ball.

Isobel turns to Ruth. ‘Ruth, perhaps you could begin by telling us how it feels to have Andrew here.’