O’s mate Lorraine is a physical therapist at the Royal Free. She’s easily seventy-five but can pass for fifty and somehow looks glamourous even after a long shift at work. Stack reminds me of a young Idris Elba, all smouldering and cool at the same time. Maybe this is a set-up, I think hopefully. Take my mind off my problems. Stack isn’t interested in me – he made that clear the first time we met – but you never know. One lucky day I might be in for a pity shag or a bit of a drunken grope. A girl can hope.

Except he’s on Spacetime. He waves casually but keeps talking to someone we can’t see. Something about a party. Sigh.

‘Don’t mind Stack,’ Lorraine says in her gravel voice, dumping her coat in his arms. ‘He’s helping me with some errands today. How is the wrist feeling? Did you take your arnica?’

I repair to the sofa to eat my eggs while the two of them talk about which of their mutual friends has died lately and the side effects of medications. I fall asleep listening to them and one of my own snores wakes me with a jerk. Drool is leaking out of the side of my mouth. Stack is sitting opposite me, his sleek bare arms rippling with every little move as he delicately drinks a cup of coffee. I catch his micro-expression of disgust before he looks away. I scramble upright, wiping my face.

‘Sorry!’

‘Isn’t it nice that you have Charlie here, O.’ Lorraine beams at me. ‘You know, Charlie, O has taken in a fair few young women over the years and all of them were very nice, but you are the most real.’

‘Thanks,’ I say faintly. ‘Sorry I fell asleep.’

‘You can’t help it, I know. O tells me everything.’ There’s a gleam in her eye, and I feel myself blushing though I don’t really know why. ‘I hope you aren’t using anything on the black market.’

‘What?’

‘For your narcolepsy. The smart drugs. They’re easy to get, but you have to be careful. I see people all the time, they come into A and E. It’s not like the old days. Too much modafinil will make you sick, but too much Xanadu can damage your hippocampus. There’s a lot out there what hasn’t been properly tested. Not worth the risk.’

I glance at O, thinking of her warnings of Neo-Victorian-potting-shed-scientists. But she is studying her fingernails as if they hold the secret to the origin of dark energy. (I should confess that I’ve only heard of dark energy because Shandy makes me watch Physics Goats Tour the Galaxy.)

‘I don’t take anything,’ I inform Lorraine. ‘As you can see, I just fall asleep in my food.’