The psychiatrist’s office was on Newhall Street, off Colmore Row, so was at least convenient for getting to HQ afterwards. Dr Scholz, one of countless psychiatrists Dani had seen over the last two years, was a German-born man in his fifties. He’d lived in England for nearly thirty years but his roots were still obvious in his heavily accented English. He reminded Dani of a professor-type from a bygone era, with his thin hair, round glasses and wispy moustache. He was always immaculately dressed and groomed, yet there was little warmth in Scholz, and Dani had never really opened up in their sessions in the way she was expected to.

Which perhaps explained why she was still having to see him after some six months, even though she’d now been cleared to return to work. Her continued therapy was just one of the conditions McNair, on the advice of Scholz, had insisted upon, until it was deemed Dani was of sound enough mind to halt both the sessions and her anti-depressant medication. Dani often wondered whether she would ever reach that point.

She arrived outside the old redbrick Victorian terrace ten minutes early for her appointment and headed inside to the reception area that was decked out in modern and largely bright white decor – was it modern or just clinical? She sat on a blue plastic chair in the small waiting area while the young receptionist filed her nails. Every so often she glanced at Dani for a few seconds as though she were trying to figure out what was wrong with this clearly deranged woman. At least that’s what Dani thought.

Scholz poked his head around his office door bang on the hour and ushered Dani through. His office was pleasantly inviting compared to the reception area, with book-filled shelves, ornaments and various colourful paintings on the walls. As well as the two plain metal chairs in front of his desk, there were two armchairs plus the obligatory chaise longue. Dani had never taken to lying down during these sessions. Instead, at Scholz’s invitation to sit where she wanted, Dani opted for one of the seats at the desk. Would Scholz draw any conclusions as to her mental wellbeing from that simple choice alone?

Probably yes. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.

‘How are you, Dani?’

Scholz sat on his own chair – comfortable leather – put his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.

‘Fine. I’m back at work now.’

‘That’s good. And you’re coping ok?’