Harri is working her croissant like a worry bead. Kim is sitting on the edge of her desk, while she rips up flakes of cold dough. Stella Luna, Panache’s syndicated psychic (real name Beverly Fowler) would say their energies are not aligned. Harri knows her body is in the building, but her soul, her spirit, keeps getting up to stretch its legs, popping out for a flat white. Whittaker-Chambers media. Whittaker-Chambers. She’s tried to google, there’s a website, but it keeps leading her to a 404 page. She’s feeling jarred. Mackenzie isn’t just intransigent. She’s unfathomable. Or she’s up to something. And Harri doesn’t know how the hell she’s going to break the bad news to Imogen. She should never have mentioned anything about Vogue. But then, Harri never, ever dreamed Mackenzie would do this. She genuinely thought this might mark the start of The Thawing, the point where Mackenzie picked her up, twirled her around the room and said ‘I’m sorry I ever doubted you.’ ‘We want to keep things classy, yeah? I think dicks and titties is too Robert Crumb. I was thinking of a swirl of pink and purple, a lifted curtain, something to evoke the boudoir?’

‘Right, right.’ She’s not being fair to Kim, she needs to focus. She brought him in on little more than a hunch, and he’s surprised her. He’s bloomed and flourished before her eyes, like a flower in a nature documentary, revealing its secrets at high speed. He’s so like Giles was, at the beginning, it makes her want to weep. All of that untrammelled passion and enthusiasm. She’s been hoping that Giles will start to rally, to start to see the crisis as an opportunity, but he’s fading to grey. She must be able to do something, talk to someone.

‘Of course,’ Kim continues, ‘it will be easier when Imogen has been, and filed copy. I’ll have a chat with her—do you know when it’s happening?’

Harri thinks for a minute. Her head is far too full. Oh, God, flatplan, flatplan, where are they…‘Naked speed dating was…last night.’

Kim shakes his head. ‘No, I think she was at home last night, she had a pan— I mean, she was sick. She called me.’

Harri stares at Kim, confused. Kim stares back. His expression shifts, from confusion to comprehension. His pupils dilate.

‘Oh, no. Maybe I am…thinking of something else. Someone else. I got up early, so I’m a bit…’ he smacks his wrist against his forehead. ‘Cool, cool, well, it would be great if I could have a read soon. I think it’ll be amazing!’

He springs up and bounces back to his desk, a handsome ball of happy collagen and functioning knees. He makes Harri feel like a Ford Model A at the Grand Prix.