Hauling myself out of bed, I take the other half of the Xanax and down a glass of water from the counter before moving quickly back to bed, vaguely aware of the sound of water dripping from the tap as I finally pass out again. When my eyes peel open once more it is 2.56a.m. I see the numbers glowing red from the clock resting on the chair. The chemicals from the night before are still moving through my bloodstream like a virus, but within seconds I am alert, something pulling me into consciousness, drawing me back out of bed into the main living space.

It is cold as I move through the darkness, registering the sensations of the crackled silence, the putrid glare of the streetlights jutting in through the blinds.

‘Hello?’

Nothing looks out of place, at least no more so than usual; there is the same scattering of clothes and books, the overflowing ashtrays and empty bottles. The unopened bills piled on the kitchen table alongside several used mugs. Yet, despite the exquisite silence – the shrieks of the outside world temporarily muted – the room rattles with the feeling that I am not alone.

‘Hello?’ I say again. Grabbing an empty whisky bottle from the floor, I hold it outstretched, working hard to focus my vision as I walk slowly towards the door. The blood pounding through my body now, I lift the bottle a little above my head with one hand and wrench open the front door with the other …

As I step onto the landing, I see it at once, at the bottom of the stairs amidst a pool of shattered glass.

Holding onto the wall for support, I reach the bottom of the stairs and lean over to pick up the brick. The words on the note, as I peel off the elastic band, are a childish scrawl: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.

Chapter 11

Gabriela

It was a perfect spring morning, the sunlight reflecting along the tops of the buildings that stretched up King Charles Street as she approached the office, early enough that the tourists who flocked to this part of Westminster had not yet clogged the streets. The sky glistened, as if in anticipation, and she felt a rush of pride as she moved in synch with the conveyor belt of civil servants and politicians, their shoes clipping the pavement as they made their way purposefully towards their respective offices.

Looking up, she could almost feel the power bouncing off the buildings: the decisions being made, deals thrashed out, the phone lines fizzing with the dynamics of cause and effect, reaching from one continent to another.