‘You don’t find me physically attractive.’

‘You’re attractive. Jesus.’

‘Maybe I can change my flight and go home today.’

‘Is this commission a quid pro quo thing?’

‘No! The New Yorker doesn’t do quid pro quo, and I would never do that to you. I like the story idea. I like your writing. The commission is genuine. We’re really doing this.’

‘Tell me now if you’re not going to honour the commission, and I’ll go home.’

‘File the story as normal. Do you remember that day we slept together, a hundred years ago? Had sex.’

‘Okay. Yes.’

‘Afterwards you left the room and we never acknowledged that it happened.’

‘You’d like me to pretend this conversation never happened?’

‘That would be ideal.’

‘But I’ll see you before you go?’

‘Probably not,’ said Liam.

The way back to her room—the walk down the hall, the lift down four floors—imprinted itself on her brain; it was the kind of moment, the kind of feeling, that she feared she’d remember even as she experienced it. Her husband, her friend Liam, the commission: would they all be taken away from her? In her absence (Emily left her phone in her room, because she wasn’t yet in the habit of taking it everywhere) messages had been left by Sophia, the survivor of the Third of April, and Shirley Gibson, who with her husband Sam had taken over the Lucky’s franchise. Both Sophia and Shirley said they would be happy to be interviewed. Sophia said: ‘I have spare time. But you gotta come to me. I don’t have a working car right now.’ Shirley said: ‘Let’s do the interview somewhere nice. I know a gorgeous place in Drummoyne.’

Before returning their calls, Emily wanted to ring her early-rising mother, who said yes she could talk, was not busy, had put on a leg of gammon for lunch. The meat was simmering in dry apple cider.

Emily said: ‘Michael told me he’s having an affair.’

‘Michael’s been having an affair?’ her mother repeated, before repeating it twice more and hereby notifying Rick of the development. ‘My God. Who with? A woman? A man?’

‘I know next to nothing about her and I want it to stay that way.’

‘Look, you two can sort it out, can’t you? No point in getting divorced. When you come back to England you’ll sit down and fix things, won’t you?’

‘I’m not sure that’s possible.’

‘’Course it’s possible. Anything’s possible in a marriage. Gosh, he had a little affair; he made a terrible mistake. No doubt he’s sorry. I know Michael. That man will be on his knees ready to beg forgiveness by the time you come back.’

‘I doubt it will matter, Mum.’

‘Rick wants to have a word. Hang on.’

Emily’s stepfather said: ‘The bastard’s got himself a girlfriend, does he?’