IT LOOKS like you fired ten boxes of tissues out of a cannon in here,” Alexis comments, looking in disbelief around my usually immaculate living room. “I guess I could clean up a bit.” I glance at the floor. She’s right, there really is an inordinate amount of tissues scattered haphazardly around. With all the crying I’ve been doing I must be at risk of suffering from severe dehydration by now. I’m thirsty at the thought, although I have no intention whatsoever of leaving my cocoon on the sofa. “Are you sick? You sounded dreadful on the phone just now,” she asks in concern, sitting next to me on the sofa and placing her hand on my brow. “You don’t have a fever, but you look terrible.” I’m still in the fleecy pyjamas I only ever wear when I’m home alone, tucked under my duvet on the living room sofa, usually watching a rom com. “I’m fine.”
