The spilled beer made my left hand and wrist unpleasantly sticky and dirty-feeling, and I wanted to wash. But as I stepped out of the lift, I saw Mohit heading into the toilets, and did not want him observing me. For long seconds I stood in the lift lobby, half in the lift and half out, while an impatient electronic voice told me not to obstruct the doors. It was tempting to back into the lift and take it back down, to leave the building, go to the pub or return home, shut off the phone and head for unconsciousness … And ride out the consequences. The consequences would be very severe, but I could ignore them, until the money went, around the time of my next rent payment, or the one after.

The smell of burning was overpowering – I could taste it, thick scorched tar at the back of my mouth. Opposite the lifts were windows facing east, looking across the rooftops of London towards Barking and the smoke column. The view was identical to my first sight of the plume on Monday – that had been through the adjacent windows on the other side of the door into the office. And it was still there, the rising smoke, feeding a sky stained dark by four days of uninterrupted pollution. How could it possibly still be burning? What was left to burn? Why wasn’t everyone gathered here like they had been at the start, saying, ‘This is bizarre, this shouldn’t be happening’?

I could swear that it appeared to be closer, and filled a wider wedge of the horizon. In the winter gloom it was difficult to be sure, but I remembered the stark, black column that we had all seen on Monday, how far away it seemed to be; that was part of what made it impressive, the fact that it was so obviously distant and yet so very prominent. It didn’t match this sprawling toxic curtain.

The lift doors stopped complaining and began an electronic hollering. I stepped out and the doors closed with an aggressive snap. My hand was still dirty, and I feared that I reeked, but I pushed into the office regardless.

Only Kay acknowledged my entrance – she raised her eyebrows at me, an exaggerated look of alarm, and then pointedly turned to the aquarium. Eddie and Polly were bunkered there, Eddie unusually stiff, sitting straight, Polly leaning forward with her arms crossed tight, hair behind ears, staring down at papers. Her legs were kicked back under the chair, crossed at the ankles. The whole scene was tense.