“Look,” said Annie. “I’m a reasonable woman. Ask anyone. Ask my cheating husband! I am the most reasonable woman you could ever hope to meet. But I am not moving from this room; you’ll have to come in here and carry me out.”

“I’m just going to put you on hold, please, Mrs. Sharpe,” said the receptionist.

Annie was treated to a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony while the receptionist presumably decided whether to call the police or the psychiatric team. After a few minutes, another voice came over the line.

“Thank you for holding, Mrs. Sharpe,” said the voice. “I’m the shift supervisor. That’s another three nights in room 208 booked in for you.”

Annie thanked the patient supervisor and apologized for being a pain in the arse and explained that she had recently found her husband having sex with a waitress half his age on a velvet banquette and it was making her behave rather oddly. When she put the phone down, Annie pulled the duvet back over her greasy head and slept for another nine hours.

When she woke, there was a note pushed under the door, which read: Delivery outside.

Curious, Annie opened the door and found a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates with a small card attached.

Dear Mrs. Sharpe, I thought you might need these. Sorry about your cheating husband. Best wishes, Sally (the supervising receptionist you spoke to this morning)

Annie was deeply touched. Her eyes filled with tears. It occurred to her in that moment that she didn’t really have any friends, not of her own; she’d never had time to make any. And if she had, she might have to confess that her husband was a manipulative, serial cheater, and that was a shame she preferred to keep to herself. She spent many hours a day with Marianne, and they got on very well, but they’d never hung out outside of work. She had Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, of course, but the cat couldn’t answer back and was aloof at the best of times. As Annie stood between the compact, windowless bathroom and the built-in wardrobe, trying to ignore the smell of her unwashed body, it occurred to her that Sally the hotel receptionist was the closest thing Annie had to a friend, and she’d only spoken to Sally on the phone from beneath her duvet.

Annie began to sob. And once she’d begun, she found it very hard to stop. By the time the late-night movie started, Annie was out of both tissues and tears. She opened the box of chocolates and poured the wine into the glass from the bathroom; she finished the wine before the movie ended and fell asleep with the empty tumbler still in her hand and a dark chocolate coffee-cream in her mouth, which melted and dribbled down her chin and onto her stale pajamas.

Chapter 6