‘We need to talk about Milton House today,’ she says, noticing that her pad is upside down and trying to turn it around without drawing my attention to it.

‘Tell me she’s not twenty-three,’ I say.

‘Not today, Connie,’ she says quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear again, and I think about backing off, but I can’t.

‘Is he having sexual intercourse with her?’ I ask in what I consider a doctorly fashion. ‘Are they copulating?’

‘Apparently not,’ she says in a clipped voice. I’m stunned that she includes me in this way, in her very private world. I look for signs that she regrets it but I don’t see any. She’s not blushing; she’s not even fidgeting. Her eyes are a little bloodshot and I wonder whether she’s been crying.

‘Did he say it was just sex? Or is he in love?’

She waves a hand, gesturing for me not to ask any more, but she’s not quick enough today to divert me. I won’t stop now. ‘You know, I once asked Karl, “Do you love Ness?” And he said, “I don’t know.” Can you believe it? I don’t know! I’m still outraged by that conversation. I needed to hear him say yes. If he said yes I could get my head around it. I could understand that. But why would he take all these risks with his family if he didn’t even love her? Would a man do all that just for his cock?’

‘Love . . . what is love?’ Dr. R says dismissively. She is very negative today. I’m not sure psychiatrists should be so doom-laden. I press on.

‘So I said to him, “All right then, Karl, let me ask the same question in a different way: Have you told her that you love her?” And he said, “Oh yes, of course I have!”’

Dr. R sniggers. I love making her laugh. She has a wonderful smile. She rolls her eyes, shakes her head. I really haven’t seen her like this before. She looks exhausted, weak, run down, past caring. I must milk it.

‘At least she had the grace to later send me a text saying she just couldn’t help herself – she was madly in love with him. Which is bullshit, by the way: there’s always a choice down the line somewhere.’