‘She really is.’

‘Prove it.’

People – everyone – are looking at us. We are the best entertainment available right now. I don’t care.

‘What, you want me to go and buy her a pregnancy test and make her piss on it?’

‘If you have to.’

‘Fuck whether she’s telling the truth. The truth has nothing to do with what’s right.’

‘You’re a fucking idiot.’

She’s seething, Priority Woman. She’s seething at me. And I bow my head. I cower a bit, waiting for the next blow, but she just seethes, like a malevolent spirit.

I look out, at the spark-lit, scraggy walls of the tunnel. I pray to the spirits of trains and journey destinations that this woman gets off first or I get off first and we don’t have to walk with each other to the barrier. She gets off at the next stop. I thank the spirits.

I get off at King’s Cross. There’s a message from Kelly.

Hey. Not sure if your phone’s working but I see you’ve been on WhatsApp – can you give me a bell when you get the chance? Know you’re busy

I suppose I should text her, although why hasn’t she replied to my cry for help? I go to the toilets and sit down and breathe, expecting to cry, but I don’t cry. I wait for the notes of myself to hit my nostrils; to reassure me I’m alive in some small, low, semi-fragrant way. When I’m done, I wipe and check the tissue.

A REALLY BAD SIGN

Behold the new creative elite of Soho! That’s what I think every time I walk into Café Monocle. It’s bristling with pending influence. Café Monocle takes up the entire top floor of WerkHaus. In the very centre, there’s a pool surrounded by striped loungers. I have a recurring nightmare where I end up in here by mistake with my mother and she skinny-dips.

I head for Gemma and Mia, who are by the main bar as always, working their way through a pile of Negronis. I tried to drink Negronis for a while to be in their Negroni gang, but I had to revert to Aperol Spritz. I just can’t do bitterness without fizz, and if that makes me primordial, so be it. I’m not even that fussed for drinking much any more. I think, what’s the point? It will only turn warm in my mouth and then break down to acetone and other chemicals in my system within six or seven hours, which will only exacerbate my anxiety around 3 a.m. I’m a real gas.

A drone lands on the bar, almost toppling my drink. It looks like a patent white clutch bag.