Page 74 of One in Three

Min

Putting my doctor’s hat on for a few minutes, I’ve seen patients decompensating before. They all have essentially the same symptoms: the functional deterioration of a system that had been previously working with the help of allostatic compensation – in Louise’s case, a combination of counselling, CBT and time. Together, these therapies have kept her visceral fear of loss – initially triggered by the traumatic death of her brother, and affirmed by what happened with Roger Lewison at Oxford – at bay for many years. But I think a perfect storm of circumstances are causing the sudden and alarming decay of these protective structures. In layman’s terms: I suspect Lou might be headed for another breakdown.

It’s something I worried about when Andrew deserted her four years ago, which is why I kept such a close eye on her at the time. In retrospect, I think the demands of caring for a newborn had the counter-intuitive effect of protecting her by keeping her too busy to think about anything else; too busy to think atall. But now the past is catching up with her, and I’m more alarmed than I care to admit.

I check the time on my phone, wishing the waiter hadn’t seated me in the centre of the restaurant; irrational, I know, but I hate people walking behind me. He’s late. I’m already regretting this, but my concern, as I tried to explain to Celia, is for Lou. Nothing else would induce me to sup with the devil, no matter how long the spoon.

Louise can rationalise her actions however she wants, and no doubt that woman of Andrew’s provoked her. But speaking as her friend, now, not a doctor, I have to say that moving into her ex-husband’s house isn’t normal, no matter what the excuse. Taking a job where his new wife worksis not normal.

There’s a muted stir behind me, and I look round to see Andrew hastily making his way to my table, ignoring the whiplash glances of recognition from other diners. ‘So sorry I’m late,’ he apologises. ‘Bloody Circle Line.’ He puts a hand on his chair, but doesn’t sit down. ‘You hate sitting in the middle of a restaurant, don’t you? Let me see if I can get another table.’

‘Oh, there’s no—’

‘Excuse me,’ Andrew says, politely accosting a waiter, ‘but would you mind terribly if we sat in one of the booths over there, out of the way?’

‘Please go ahead, sir.’

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I mutter, as we’re swiftly ushered to a private corner of the restaurant.

‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ Andrew smiles.

He is extremely handsome. He looks good enough on television, but in real life, he has a presence, a charisma, that’s beguiling. It’s something in the way he looks at you, as if he sees only you,allof you. Even now, I have to remind myself of who he really is.

‘So, what are you doing in London?’ Andrew says, not taking his eyes off me as the waiter unfolds his napkin for him and drapes it across his lap. ‘Something to do with work, or are you taking a day for yourself?’

He makes the latter sound faintly risqué. With an effort, I break his gaze, and take a large swallow of water. ‘This isn’t a social lunch,’ I say sharply. ‘I know what happened the other night with Lou. I’m here to tell you that you need to stay away from her, Andrew. I’m not kidding. You’re both playing with fire, and I’m not going to let her get burned again.’

To my surprise, he leans back and laughs. ‘That’s what I love about you, Min. As direct and frank as always.’

‘You think this isfunny?’

‘Of course not,’ Andrew says, his expression suddenly serious. ‘It was just a kiss, Min. It wasn’t planned, and it certainly didn’t mean anything.’

‘DoesLouthink it doesn’t mean anything?’

The waiter returns to our table and hands each of us a menu. Andrew doesn’t even glance at his before placing it on the thick white linen tablecloth. ‘I didn’t put that well. Of course it meant something. But I’m not going to drag Louise back into my mess. I put her through enough before. It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it. I want your promise that it’s not going to happen again.’

‘It’s not just up to me, Min,’ Andrew says. ‘Takes two, you know.’

We both jump as there’s a sudden crash of plates on the other side of the restaurant. The entire room abruptly falls silent as everyone turns to stare at the young waitress standing in the midst of a sea of spilt food and broken crockery, looking like she’s about to burst into tears. Before anyone else has a chance to react, Andrew leaps out from our booth and goes over to help her. ‘God, don’t you hate it when this happens?’ he asks, grabbing a napkin from the nearest table and putting the largest shards of crockery into it. ‘At least you didn’t do it live on air. You’re probably too young to remember me knocking an entire row of priceless crystal off the sideboard at Highgrove …’

He keeps up the cheerful one-sided conversation as a phalanx of restaurant staff recover their wits and rush over to reassure the diners whose lunch is now scattered across the tiles. Within minutes, order is restored, the mess is cleaned up, and Andrew returns to our table.

‘That was kind of you,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I think you just saved that poor girl’s job.’

‘It requires depth of character to be truly wicked,’ Andrew says dryly. ‘As Celia will no doubt agree, I have only hidden shallows.’

I sigh. ‘I don’t think you’re wicked. Just bloody selfish.’

‘Progress.’ He raises a hand to attract a waiter. ‘Are we allowed a glass of champagne, Doctor Pollock?’

‘I don’t usually drink at lunchtime—’

‘Oh, Min. Live a little,’ Andrew teases. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

I hesitate. ‘All right, then.’

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