The only way to stop the tears is to try to come up with a plan. I think of all the bars, all the agencies, every single place I have worked that might take me back…round and round and round my brain goes, until I come to in the lift. I’ve got all the way into the Hudson building on autopilot. Harri sees me before I see her. As soon as she says my name, I take a deep breath. ‘I’ve got something I need…’

‘Excellent news!’ she interrupts me. ‘The Fallen Angels piece is flying. Flying. It was in New York Mag’s newsletter, and Vogue Italia want to syndicate it! Akila and I are just off upstairs to get it all signed off now.’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t want to jinx it but it looks like it’s about to overtake your threesome piece. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!’ She gathers me into a strange hug, for a moment it’s as though we’re slow dancing. Harri releases me, awkwardly. ‘Sorry, sorry, not a hugger, just…between us, we needed a massive win. And we have one. Well done! And thanks so much for filing speed dating so, ha, speedily. Can’t wait to read!’

Filing. It was in my drafts. On my phone. I thought I’d simply saved the email. I feel very hot, then very, very cold. ‘But Harri…’ what can I tell her now? She gathers up her notebooks to go, and that’s when I notice Tabitha staring at both of us from the doorway. She waits for Harri to pass, which takes a while because Harri wants to admire her lucite heeled cowboy boots.

‘So. Naked speed dating. A good time had by all? Meet anyone…interesting?’

This is weird. Tabitha always sounds strange, and slightly strangulated, but I’ve not heard this before. There’s a raw, bitter note in her voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d been crying too. This is it. This is the end. This is where I give myself up. But my mouth starts before my brain can stop it.

‘Oh, you know! All a bit gimmicky, really. Very Naked Attraction. You don’t really see anything because we were all behind tables!’

‘Interesting.’ Tabitha raises her right eyebrow. A perfect, flipped-up tick. The square root of evil. There is a single flake of glitter clinging to one of the hairs. On any other day, at any other moment, this would fill me with schadenfreude. But every bit of my body is now screaming Run. My stomach gurgles violently. My bowels are always a pretty reliable barometer when it comes to terror. They want me to take flight and hide in the toilet.

What does she know?