Tom’s schedule shifted back and I was surprised at how happy I was to see him, how easily we fell back into the same routine. Sometimes, after a few drinks, I caught him watching me, half a question on his lips. And I’d smile awkwardly, start talking before he could ask it, tell him a story about something that happened at work until the question faded. He was so normal, and around him I felt normal too. I wanted to tell him but more than that I wanted not to have to. I wanted there to be nothing to tell.

But some nights, I didn’t sleep at all.

My hands always shook and I jumped at the sound of people’s voices and I had a permanent headache from squinting against the daylight, and I felt it. Just over the horizon. Murder. Multiple organ failure.

All the days, disappearing.

AUGUST, ONCE

AUGUST, ONCE

One of the airlines was having a sale.

Every single ad on every single website I visited flashed red and white and told me to book now. A few weeks earlier, I would have sent the link to Lina and she would have called me and we would have talked about it, whether they’d get cheaper, whether we should book finally, or hold off, just in case.

It occurred to me suddenly that we’d been holding off, just in case, for months.

‘Cute nails.’

I hadn’t heard Annaliese come in. She was standing by my desk, a plastic cup of something iced and milky in one hand. I smiled, looked down at my hand. Bright yellow. I’d started painting them to stop myself from chewing on them. All the brochures about quitting smoking went on about how it would improve my skin and make it easier to swim laps and make food smell better but not a single one mentioned the constant desire to gnaw my own fingers off. ‘Thanks.’

She put down her drink. ‘It’s lunchtime, you know?’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m just finishing some things off. Rob and Carly wanted that report ready to go out by five, so …’

Annaliese looked around the empty office. She was wearing gold eyeliner, so well it almost looked natural. ‘You don’t see them here, though, do you?’

I laughed. It was Friday, so like everybody else, they’d gone to the pub for lunch. ‘It’s fine, I’m avoiding temptation.’

‘Still not smoking?’

I nodded. ‘Six weeks tomorrow.’ The first four had been rough yet manageable, but ever since dinner with Lina the cravings had turned into something more, something almost primal. My entire body itched for nicotine. I’d seen someone smoking on my walk to work that morning and the phrase ‘I’d kill for a cigarette’ had felt so true I’d clamped my lips between my teeth and bitten down until my eyes watered.

‘Good for you! It’s a filthy habit.’