JOE RUBS HIS left eye with his knuckles. He sniffs and huffs. It could be his work, finally getting to him. I saw one image of death and it has stayed with me. It’s visited me when I’m in bed waiting for sleep, the explosion of flesh and blood.

I know the image was likely downloaded but I can’t help thinking about the gnawing possibility that the person who printed it is the person who photographed it.

‘So, how are things at work, Joe?’

He glances up suddenly, as if surprised. ‘Oh, fine.’

‘You seem a little down today,’ I add.

He smiles but there is no joy in it. ‘Do I?’

‘You do. Is there something going on at home?’

He shifts his hips deeper into the seat. ‘No. The usual.’

‘So no changes? Have you been sleeping well?’

‘Yeah, sort of. I mean there’s been a couple of bad nights.’

‘So not a full night every night?’

‘No. I’ve been drinking a little. I heard that affects sleep. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired.’

‘Do you think it would be a good idea to work out why you’re drinking more? I’m assuming it has gotten more frequent?’

‘You could say that. I’ve been drinking a nightcap of scotch to help me sleep.’

‘Every second night? Every night? Twice a week?’

‘Most nights, actually, especially Thursday, Friday, Saturday. My wife wants me to start going with her to mass again but I’m always so tired,’ he says. It chills me. He’s self-medicating, he’s clearly not well. His eyes fix on my pen. ‘That’s a Mont Blanc.’

I look down and smile, as if noticing it for the first time. ‘It is. Well spotted.’

‘Expensive.’

‘I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.’

‘Lucky girl,’ he says.

I push the conversation back on track. ‘Are you doing anything else to help with your sleep?’

His eyes rise from the pen to mine. ‘Like what?’

‘Putting your phone away earlier?’

‘Yeah, I’m not playing so many games. I’m trying to find other ways to entertain myself.’

‘What other ways?’

I see his Adam’s apple move up and down. I study the explosions of tiny red veins in his cheeks, at the tip of his nose. Is he blushing? ‘Well I’m trying to read books, like you said. I started one called Dark Tide. It’s quite good.’

‘Yeah, what’s it about?’

‘A backpacker who disappeared in New Zealand. It’s a true crime one.’

‘Right. Do you feel you could read before bed to help you sleep instead of having a drink?’

‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘But I like a drink. I do both.’

‘Well, do you know how we define problematic drinking?’

‘If I can’t stop?’ he asks.