Outside the aquarium, the office was quiet. We were in the meaty part of the production cycle, when features start to come together, and my colleagues were out visiting places and meeting people and overseeing photoshoots. Test spreads had started going up on the wall behind Ilse – tomorrow these would be brought into the meeting and Eddie would pass judgement. I saw a couple of pictures of Pierce in the mix. Pierce standing with his back to the wall-map, arms crossed. Pierce on his tatty leather sofa, looking louche. Pierce pressed up against the wall-map, fingers running through the thick mane of psychogeographical trivia, ecstasy on his face, like a man lying in a meadow on a summer’s day. This last was a particularly good photo, and triggered a pang of envy at the good fun Pierce appeared to have had with Alan, the photographer, while I was drinking my way out of panic in the Liverpool Street Wetherspoon’s. One unwelcome emotion abruptly gave way to another: why be envious? Was I still besotted with Pierce? Did I still want to be his friend and peer? On Monday I would have been delighted with these photos, and what they said about the unwritten feature that was to accompany them – the feature I wanted to write, in all its glorious potential. Now it was all sullied and ridiculous.

I sat down and switched on my computer. Using my phone – more discreet than work email – I messaged Kay: What’s going on?

I don’t know, she replied. Something.

Redundancies? I asked. I watched as the message icon changed – Kay had read it. But she did not reply. I turned in my chair to look across the office at her, and she shrugged at me.

About me? I asked.

They weren’t happy with you earlier, Kay replied. What happened to your face?

I fell off a garden wall, I said. It’s a long story. Not a funny one, sorry, just stupid.

Are you OK? Kay asked.

I took a long time to reply. Yes, fine. Sorry. Just got a lot on.

We should catch up, she said.

I know, I said. I’m sorry I didn’t come out and see you the other night.

That’s fine. You could have just said you were with Quin.

She had seen Quin’s Tamesis post. Of course she had seen Quin’s Tamesis post. It would have lit up the sky across my contacts and T-pluses.

Sorry, I said, and left it at that. She did not reply, and I did not look around to see her expression.