I sounded like a Mills and Boon novel. A deluded one at that – even I couldn’t kid myself that the series of secretive booty calls I’d signed up for were textbook romance.

‘Romantically?’ said Amber, with a ghost of a smile. ‘And do you think that’s a good idea, considering the fragility of your mental health?’

‘It just happened,’ I said pathetically.

Amber’s gaze flitted away, as if she couldn’t quite bear to lay eyes on me, her failed experiment.

‘You do realize how early you are in the recovery process? How quickly the drink and drugs could become a life-threatening problem again?’

I nodded guiltily. At least she hadn’t guessed that I’d been tempted back already: how was it that Sophie simply knew? The thought of that innate closeness made the missing of my sister so visceral that I almost doubled up in pain. I could feel in that moment that, the way things were evolving, soon I would have no one.

‘I don’t take many patients on,’ Amber continued. ‘I’m very discerning, because when I do invest in rebuilding someone’s life, I need to know they’re really up for it.’

‘I know, and I’m so lucky—’

She cut across me. ‘But that requires total trust, total transparency on both sides.’

‘Of course!’

Amber almost sneered. ‘Of course?’

I paused, searching for the most authentic truth inside myself. The transparency she was demanding. Despite everything I half knew, I still wanted her to be the one to put me back together again. It was too precious to give up on without a fight.

‘I just – I miss it. The attention. Sex. All of it. He initiated it, and I wasn’t strong enough to say no to him.’

Not once did I think to say that it was her who had thrown him in my path. Who had created that messy sexual breeding ground for all of us.

Amber shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Everything you just said – they’re the words of an addict. As we know, sex and love addiction are a major part of your profile, unsurprising with parents like yours. But that’s why I’ve been here. To give you the guidance to stop using these vices to numb the pain.’ Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘And I can only do that if you don’t lie to me.’

‘I didn’t…’

Her voice rose. ‘A lie of omission is still a lie. And a deeply destructive one in the context of the therapeutic relationship.’

‘I’m sorry, I really am sorry,’ I said, pleading.

Her expression remained cold.

‘You are not well enough for this, Rachel. Who knows when you will be? I suspect this addiction is more destructive for you than any of the others. It speaks directly to the twisted, abusive family that tried to mould you in their image.’