Eddie narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean? I thought you said you had lots of material.’

‘Yes. Yes. But I really want to refine his central point, make sure I got it.’

‘What was that?’

‘What was what?’

‘His central point.’

‘Well, as I say—’

‘As you understand it.’

Both of them leaned in slightly, waiting for my reply. I feared my chair might somehow be on an incline, and could slip away from underneath me, sending me to the floor. The air-con needed a service, for sure, it was blowing out only hot, stale, monoxidey air, scented with hot electrics and smouldering dust.

‘It’s hot in here,’ I said. ‘Don’t you feel hot?’

Polly and Eddie exchanged a glance. It was an interrogatory glance on Eddie’s part, seeking a cue or confirmation from Polly. She bit her lip in response, uncertain.

‘You look awful,’ Eddie said with a sigh. His tone was not kindly. ‘I got you out of bed, didn’t I? You haven’t washed. You’re a mess. What happened to your face?’

‘I fell down in the garden,’ I said, suddenly aware how pathetic the whole story sounded, even if it was the truth. ‘Hit myself on a wall.’

There was no sign of whether Eddie accepted this explanation. He simply moved on. ‘Did you go out last night?’

‘No,’ I said. I thought I hadn’t. I genuinely believed that I had not ‘gone out’ in any conventional sense. After all, while I was out, I had only had two pints, and a couple of bottles. If you didn’t count the roadies on the train, which I considered an extension of my at-home drinking. There had been drinking afterwards as well, but that was also at home, not out. But it wasn’t as if I had gone out, not in the accusatory way that Eddie meant it. ‘No, kind of. Not out late though.’

‘You were out on Tuesday. I saw on Tamesis.’

Yes, obviously. Everyone had seen that. But that was magazine business! In a way.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re out every night, you’re in a state, you’re not getting the job done, you’re not getting it half done …’ Eddie sighed and cast his eyes downwards, breaking what had been a chilling stare. ‘You’re putting me in a very difficult position.’

The long-delayed moment had arrived. I had to play my last card.

‘We should postpone the De Chauncey interview,’ I said.

Eddie closed his eyes and axed his hand down on the flatplan, hard. ‘As I have explained, more than once—’

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’ll want to postpone it when you hear what happened with Pierce. You’ll want the pages.’

He reopened his eyes. Polly, who had been tense and straight-spined since Eddie’s change in questioning, was staring at me intently, not with malice, but with interest. I had their attention.

‘Go on.’