‘I could make it an urgent referral. They might be able to see you in the next few weeks.’

I grip the arms of the chair. Anything could happen to me in the next few weeks. ‘Is there no one else I could see? We can’t afford to go private but I could borrow some money.’

Dr Evans gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Claire. It’s as frustrating for me as it is for you and I wish there was some way of speeding things up but the NHS is stretched to—’

‘I’ll pay!’ Liz says. ‘I’ve got a bit put away, from when Mum died. It’s yours, Claire.’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Think of it as a loan if that makes you feel better. You’ll go back to work eventually and, when you do, you can pay me back.’

Dr Evans looks from Liz to me and presses her lips together.

‘If you’re desperate to see someone you could Google Bristol-based psychotherapists who specialize in stress and anxiety disorders. I’m afraid I can’t recommend anyone specifically but make sure they’ve got proper accreditation. And in the meantime I’ll put in the referrals for you. I’ll do everything I can to get you seen sooner rather than later.’

‘There you go then,’ Liz says, half-rising from her seat. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. Isn’t it, Claire?’

‘Yes.’ I force myself to smile.

I’m not sure who I’m lying to. Her, or myself.

Chapter 26

Kira sniffs the air as she shuffles through the back door, bent almost double under the weight of her camera equipment, but there is no chicken in the oven, no spaghetti bolognese bubbling away on the stove. There are no knives and forks laid out on trays. No cookbooks propped open on the kitchen counter with a spoon. It’s been half an hour since I left Liz’s house and came home. We spent what was left of the afternoon together, sitting in her living room watching old episodes of Friends and drinking tea. She said she wasn’t going to let me leave until Jake came home so I lied and said he was getting back early today. The truth was I needed some time to myself, time to just think.

‘Oh.’ Kira pauses in the entrance to the kitchen and glances up at the clock. Her pale skin looks almost translucent under the glow of the spotlight, her hair loose around her shoulders, a black silk lily clipped behind her left ear. ‘Did I miss tea? I’m sorry I’m late but the bus was delayed and—’

‘We’re not having tea tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She carefully lowers her camera equipment to the floor and rubs at her right shoulder with the heel of her left hand. ‘Takeaway, is it? Or would you like me to cook?’