‘On the way to school once, I was mugged by some boys from the fifth form. I had an LP with me, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars; I was taking it in to play during a music lesson. The older kids didn’t actually want the record. They took it from me, took it out of the cover and threw it like a frisbee across the park. It was ruined.’

Telling this story is dangerous. I can feel that tingle between my eyes and cheeks, the tremor in my jaw. Keep it together.

‘After school, I told Clare. And two days later she frogmarched the two boys across the playground and they presented me with a brand new copy of the LP. They were bigger than her, but they were terrified of her. That’s my sister.’

Penelope leans forward. She seems moved, though I remind myself that in her profession sincerity is a tool. ‘Your sister seems to have been a very impressive person.’

‘She hated injustice.’

The carriage clock on the mantelpiece gently chimes the hour. Penelope shuts the Filofax. ‘I’m afraid that’s time. We’ll pick up tomorrow.’

‘Any thoughts on when I can go home?’ I ask hopefully.

‘You aren’t being held captive Gil. You can leave at any time. But my sense is that we can help you, if you’ll just be a bit more patient, a bit less afraid, a bit more open. If you expose the wound to sunlight it will heal.’

*

Apart from the psychotherapy and the prescription meds, the Minster feels like a super-luxe, middle-class holiday camp, almost a spa hotel. Along with the tennis courts, there’s a lap pool, a gym, an art studio, potters’ wheels, a music room, and instructors for everything. For physical well-being, there’s a choice of aerobics classes, Tai Chi, two types of Yoga, and meditation. There are also assorted talking therapy sessions for groups of us. At ten there’s the alcoholism group, 11.30 till lunch is cocaine and Class A drugs, and around teatime is love and sex addiction. Yesterday I tried the booze session. ‘My name is Gil, and I am a recovering alcoholic.’ But even as I said it, I felt phoney. Although I drink too much, I don’t wake up gagging for a drink. I am sober most of the time. During the day, anyway.

I tried my ‘I’m in control’ line on the authentic alcoholics. They weren’t impressed.

‘Do you think you might be in denial?’ a fifty-something lady in sweatpants and a grey T-shirt asked, gently.

Probably. But denial is a better way of life than hanging out with losers like you.