To give an example. We were eating dinner in an Italian restaurant near our flat. There are many other examples that I could cite – perhaps this one comes to mind for the setting. It wasn’t a tense discussion in the kitchen, or the bedroom, or the living room, the three places in which these discussions took place nine times out of ten. We had gone to this little neighbourhood restaurant, one of a dying breed, in the middle of the week, for no good reason. We were simply both too demoralised to cook. Talk had turned to the amount I drank, I don’t remember exactly why or how, but it often did. No, I do remember why, and I don’t know why I am claiming I don’t. The time had eased past ten and I had mentioned that I wanted to go to the convenience store before it closed. Elise had asked if that was really necessary – didn’t I have a can or two in the fridge? Which was true, but I had squirmed nevertheless, and she had picked up on my squirm, my reluctance.

‘Jack, the cans, the drinking in the evening,’ she said, voice thin with exhaustion, close to a break. ‘I’m worried …’

And I kept my face calm, all the while thinking, This is it, this time we are going to have the conversation, and she will say the word, and the buzzer will sound and that will be that.

‘I’m worried that it’s becoming a problem.’

That was as close as we came. Not even: It’s a problem. Just, becoming. She said how worried she was, and she considerately emphasised her concern for my health and my work. I was not oblivious to her pain. I wanted to soothe it. That was where we differed: the problem that had to be solved.

She wanted me to drink less, to set myself limits and stick to them, bringing everything back to a healthy level. I wanted to make her concern go away, with as few other changes as possible. I wanted her to stop worrying – it was a problem of perception, her perception. I could do a better job of concealing what I drank, that was one priority. But I also needed to make a show of proving that I didn’t have a problem – that I wasn’t addicted, to use another word that we never spoke.

Hiding the drinking never worked for long. I sneaked pub visits after work, and I filled innocuous containers with lager. I bought the can-crusher. Being drunk, I was sloppy, I made mistakes and the ruses rarely lasted long. They only served to reinforce the impression that I had … that there was a problem. I would have to undergo some genuine deprivation to remove that impression.