‘It’s not your responsibility, Wolfie. All you can do is just be there for your mother when she needs you,’ he said. He said it twice, actually, and if he hadn’t been quite so nice I might have shouted at him. Like, I heard you the first time, buddy, and by the way, don’t you get it? I am there. I’m never not there. And mightn’t that be a problem?

I didn’t shout though, I just nodded and said, OK, I’ll continue to be there and not just because I haven’t had any job offers in Kyoto. Which made my mother stop crying for a minute and laugh snottily, so that was an unexpectedly good turn of events. The doctor had no idea what I was talking about, but he nodded and wrote something down in a notepad, which could have been the solution to everything wrong with us or his shopping list.

Lou says she’s not depressed, she’s just sad sometimes and she’s waiting for it to pass. She’s repeated that line quite a few times over the years, mostly when I probably wasn’t supposed to be listening. This particular doctor clearly begged to differ, though, because five minutes into the appointment he suggested prescribing her some medication. For depression.

When he droned out the seven-syllable name of the pills, his stomach let out a massive rumble that we all pretended not to hear. Lou said politely that she wasn’t depressed (which I’d almost considered announcing myself when we got there, to save everyone the trouble), and he opened his mouth like he was about to say something. But then he looked at the clock on the wall and just went, fair enough, try some vitamin B, drink plenty of water and join a club. In other words, tell your story walking, lady, because it’s lunchtime and I can only do so much on an empty stomach. I remember watching a fly tiptoe its way across his desk and thinking, Just take them, Lou. Take the pills even if there’s just the slightest chance they’ll make you feel better. Why wouldn’t you just take them?

That’s what I thought when I was eleven, but now I’m older and wiser and full of the joys of critical thinking, there’s a massive part of me that’s proud of her for not giving in. For staying hopeful and going it alone. You go, girl. Viva la revolución. It might even work one of these days.

And the thing is, it’s not always like this. In the days and weeks and even months between those sofa holidays, there are plenty of times it feels like we could be on the verge of being almost as happy as Larry.

Because my mother’s not depressed, she’s just sad and we’re waiting for it to pass.

It’s properly light now. Someone starts a car down on the street and Lou rolls over to face me, but she doesn’t wake up. My arm’s gone numb and I need the loo, but I want to lie here for a bit longer beside her.