Saturday night.

Wow. You answered your telephone again, Bee: that’s twice in two days!

(More than in the rest of the previous decade?)

We’re on our way to Ben’s gig. If you jumped on a bus now you ‘d make it.

I can’t. There’s no late bus back to Cambridge, and you said my bedroom has paying guests in it.

Fair enough. How did the meeting go with the shrink yesterday?

You’re not going to like this.

He didn’t? Please tell me he didn’t! Prescribe you more Lorazepam? For goodness’ sake!

What else could he do?

Find an effing solution! Not be such an f-wit. What’s the matter with these people? Are there only two psychiatrists in the world who aren’t the most moronic, dangerous, stupid, drug-happy, life-wrecking...

Which two would those be?

Professor Veale and the one you like, Rex Haigh.

You don’t know anything about Professor Haigh!

I know you like him. And you’ve told me he doesn’t do drugs. Does this complete effing eejit know you’ve just had about a hundred grand’s worth of treatment to get you off the stuff?

He knows I’ve spent five months in the Priory.

What a total, utter, idiotic...

[There followed about twenty more minutes of this tirade. Eventually...]

I’m sorry, Bee. You must feel very got at. I’m not really blaming you.

I know. I don’t feel that. Not at all. Say what you like.

I am very angry and upset. Sorry. I’m not saying it’s your fault.

There is one good thing about this.

(I’d worked that out for myself. She won’t be banned from seeing the Little Viking on account of abusing prescription drugs, because she’s now actually been prescribed the bloody stuff.

And what about other substance she’s relying on to survive? Has he told her how to come off that?)

He said it would be better if I could.

Great. Absolutely effing great.

(I’m sorry my vocabulary is getting rather boring. It’s quite boring being mother to a junkie. Specially when her supplier is a licensed professor doctor shrink.)

Most of them are.

Ok, I said.

Deep breath.

You want to come off it all, yes?

Yes.

So what’s your plan? Given that this fathead isn’t going to help you.

I have got a plan, actually. And the thing is, now that I’ve got a prescription, I’m not putting all my energy into working out where I’m going to get my next supply, so I can put my energy into quitting ....

(I’ve heard that one before. Several times.)

... and attending the awful drug place that helps you come off it.

Well that’s going to be a fat lot of uselessness.

Not necessarily. You’re four times more likely to quit smoking if you have help and support.

Yeah. Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Well done, Bee. Well done that you plan to go to them.

Try and be clean by next week. Please. So we can all have a seaside holiday together. I can’t bear a repeat of a few years ago, when you came with Gatsby and we all had to spend our holiday working out how to keep Rosie from seeing you, and how to avoid each other, and all that palaver. It really wasn’t much fun.

Don’t worry: if I’m not allowed to see the Little Viking, I’ll keep myself away from him.

Thank you. Please try.

I will.

I am.