This sort of sarcasm took her onto Phillip’s territory. He leaned a flat hand against the doorframe, a male-in-charge-here pose, like a builder assessing the cost of work to be done. With demonstrative patience, with a skywards hefting of his eyebrows as if he were the most reasonable man yet born, he reset the conversation. ‘All right. He is very unhappy and it’s dangerous, it’s an emergency, I agree. And I am sorry if it seems like I don’t get it. It’s just, it’s basically the sun coming up, and I am in my gown, and you still aren’t ready to sleep, so …’

Michaela sniggered; she couldn’t help it. ‘I am in my gown’ was too much for her. But the moment triggered the memory of when she had laughed at James, that awful morning at the station. It wasn’t her fault that men were so funny when they got high-and-mighty. The laugh was choked to death almost the instant it hit the air. She remembered the horrible situation she was in and the fact that Phillip seemed to look down on her for being in it.

‘It’s a pretty funny joke, sure, cool,’ said Phillip, ‘it’s just—’

‘Nothing about this is funny,’ said Michaela. She reached for a towel and started to dry herself vigorously, just to be doing something physical. She wanted a run; that was what she really wanted. After all this time, a run. She couldn’t believe she was thinking it. ‘Everything about it is scary, and I would have hoped that you might support me, but …’

‘Hey, of course I support you.’ He extended an arm, he wanted to bring her in close; it was three steps from here to make-up sex. She sensed that narrative in the air. And unfortunately he was remarkably good at sex, just as he was remarkably good at knowing about art, at making her feel special in front of important people, choosing restaurants, being funny, and so on. With his head between her legs he could do things you wouldn’t see on Pornhub. But she was angry, and frightened, and she wanted to hold onto those thoughts, stare them down. She brushed aside the proffered arm, headed for the bedroom. ‘I’m going for a run,’ she called over her shoulder. She squatted down, looking for the Lycra shorts. By the time she’d got them on, Phillip was in the doorway.

‘That’s kind of interesting,’ he said, with unpleasantly measured emphasis. ‘A run.’