The Squeak is late on her rounds today. Dr. Robinson has already arrived and thus gets to watch the loony taking her pills. She seems slightly embarrassed to watch her own handiwork in play and keeps getting up and down to open the unopenable windows; it’s become a sort of nervous tic. The weather has turned cold again, freezing cold – it is Christmas time after all. The sky is low and white. That glimmer of hope the sun brought with it a few days ago was all a trick. Pan’s a sham. The Squeak and I both watch Dr. R struggle with the locks but neither of us says anything. The Squeak hands me my antidepressant; I swallow it. The Squeak hands me my anti-anxiety pill and my mood stabilizer. ‘Yum yum,’ I say, and wink at Dr. R who is coming over to sit down again. I swallow them. And lastly I’m handed my anti-psychotic meds. I amusingly cross my eyes at her in an impression of a true psychopath.

‘It’s a wonder you don’t rattle,’ says the Squeak, joining in on my larks uninvited.

‘Off you go,’ I say to her, and dismiss her with a flick of my hand before turning my full attention to Dr. R who, I suddenly see as she bends down to zip her bag shut, is wearing a fluorescent elastic sporty bra beneath the subdued hues of her professional garb. It’s difficult to imagine her running or getting down and dirty in a boot camp on a dingy green in north London amongst the dog mess; she doesn’t strike me as the sporty type at all. I rather suspect she’s one of those people who wear elasticated clothing around the house, sitting on the sofa eating chocolates feeling sporty, hoping by fabric osmosis to lose the weight.

We both wait for the Squeak to shuffle out, which she duly does. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Ibrahim,’ says Dr. R, and the Squeak nods and flashes her shark teeth as she exits.

‘Have a lovely day, Mrs. Ibrahim,’ I add, and watch her disappear into the merry glow of the sunshine-yellow hall. I turn back to Dr. R, who has a file on her lap and has now covered her fluorescent strap.

‘It says in your notes that you went back to Dr. Rhys Evans within the month for some more Lorazepam.’

‘I certainly did. And I topped myself up with Valium that I got elsewhere. But you know what? I don’t think I was completely bozoed out until I was in that Milton House drowning in Clonazepam.’

‘Where did you get them from? The Valiums?’

‘A mother at school.’

‘Was she a dealer?’ Dr. Robinson said.

‘A dealer, yes. Just like you but without the medical degree.’

I make her smile and I feel good about that.

‘Tell me about what happened the day of the Harvest Festival.’