Just before dawn I snapped out of my dreams and sat bolt upright in bed, feeling nauseous and, as I gradually regained my memory, mortified. Even Digby looked vaguely embarrassed from his watchful position on the armchair. My skull felt like it was being hoovered from the inside. Digby slipped his nose onto his front paws and regarded me with plaintive eyes. ‘And you can shut up,’ I muttered at him, clutching my head.

My heart missed a beat as someone rolled over in the bed. Oh God. Seb. I flopped down again beside him – too fast; closed my eyes tight against the spinning world. Against Seb. His breathing was that of the happily unconscious. I listened miserably to the lone bird trying to summon dawn, attempting to get my head comfortable on the pillow – but whichever way I turned, I couldn’t place it quite right. I slipped an arm around Seb as he slept, then slipped it off again. It felt overfamiliar. Eventually I drifted into the weird land of still-drunken half-sleep and worry.

It wasn’t until Seb offered to drop me at work later that morning that I remembered with a heavy heart my invitation of the night before; and, with heavier heart, the fact he hadn’t answered. I sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat the request.

‘Okay?’ he asked, lacing his boots in the kitchen as I slipped my coat on. His dark eyes were twinkling in an I-know-you-feel-rotten kind of way.

‘Oh yes.’ I nodded my head with vigour and immediately regretted it. ‘Fine, thanks.’

We walked from the flat in silence through Green Dragon Court, towards the roar of rush-hour London Bridge, me concentrating hard on not being sick, and on concealing the fact I might be. An angelic-looking Asian child was leaning against a bollard under the railway arch, eating crisps, regarding us with great solemnity as we approached. I smiled down at him. He blinked eyelashes like velvet caterpillars at me and crunched up his final crisp.

‘Excuse me, miss.’

I stopped.

‘Do you want to see something?’ He licked his salty fingers carefully.

‘Okay,’ I smiled, with beneficence this time. I was pretty good with small children. The boy folded up his crisp packet very tight and tiny and tucked it into one anorak pocket. From the other, he fished out a pretty little pill-box, all greens and blues and sparkles.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ I was enthusiastic, ‘isn’t it, Seb? Lovely treasure.’

Seb grinned politely. We started to walk on.

‘Do you want to see inside?’ The boy’s skin was like caramel, his cheeks a dusky pink as I looked down again, and shrugged. ‘Okay.’

The boy looked up at me, as solemn as the night is long. Then he wrenched the lid right off and thrust the box beneath my nose.

‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, and nearly threw up. Inside were three long and dirty yellow fingernails.

‘Wow,’ said Seb, peering down. ‘Impressive stuff.’