“Don’t thank me yet, Shepard.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m probably going to slay your friend Ken.”

Once we’ve cleaned up the doorway and moved the sofa back, it’s imperative that I talk to Simon.

I try to text him, but his phone is dead. (It only holds a charge for a few hours—he needs a new one.) “Come on, Shepard,” I say.

Shepard’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking down at his arms. “Where are we going?”

“To talk to Simon.”

“I thought you didn’t know where he was.”

“Pfft. It’s almost impossible to hide from someone you love.”

Shepard pulls on his black-and-white shoes without unlacing them. He reaches for his denim jacket, but I catch his hand. He looks at the jacket, then laughs. I may never get over how good it feels to know I’m largely responsible for this.

There’s a picture of me and Simon on the refrigerator. I hold my fist over it, cast “Winter, spring, summer or fall!”—and my gem starts tugging me out of the kitchen before I’ve even said his name.

We end up in another taxi—cabdrivers really hate taking directions like this—and a half hour later, we’re in Hackney Wick. We get out at a terrace house that’s been split into flats.

“I’m not getting into any more taxis with you unless you show me cash first,” Shepard says, as we walk up to the house. There are two buzzers by the door. “Which apartment is it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. It’s so strange to think of Simon living here, of him having his own place. Without me.

“Bunce, is that you? Are you all right?” Baz is coming up the walk behind us. His hair is dishevelled, and he looks like he’s been weeping—his eyes are shadowed and shot with grey.

“I’m fine,” I say. “What happened to you?”

“Me,” he says. “Nothing. I’m good as new. Snow won’t let you in?”

“I hadn’t tried yet.”

“Come on up, I have a key.” Apparently he and Simon have patched things up. We follow him upstairs, and he lets us into the flat, switching on the light. “Simon? Are you home?”

Baz looks even worse under the light.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” I ask him.

“I’m fine, Bunce. Snow will be home any minute, I’m sure. He was—”

There are footsteps on the staircase. All three of us turn to watch the door.

Simon comes in, looking even worse than Baz. Like he’s just lost a fight with an ennuisel.

Baz rushes towards him. “Simon?”

Simon is staring at me. “Penelope?”

I rush towards him, too. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer me. He collapses in my arms instead.