It was stuffy inside, spent emotion, like carbon monoxide, pushing out the breathable air.

‘I wish we had more privacy,’ Polly said with a weary exhalation.

I avoided the seat Freya had occupied as if it were unlucky. Not that luck could have much influence over my situation any more; clearly decisions had already been made, and the roulette ball was lodged firmly on double zero, even if the wheel had not quite ceased to spin. Perhaps poor taste was what I was anxious to avoid: disrespect to the fallen.

Polly had moved to sit where she sat before, but seeing me dodge Freya’s chair she changed to sit opposite, pulling all her papers with her. There were a lot of papers. The clipboard was fully loaded, and she had brought through a couple of the purple folders that her documents went into once they graduated from the clipboard.

The Bick file would be in there, for sure.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘You’re all … beat up.’

I sighed. ‘My house fell down.’

Her frown deepened. ‘What? How did that happen?’

I sighed, again – more a groan than a sigh. This was only the third time I had been asked about the house and I was already finding it a chore to explain. There was that initial hurdle of disbelief to surmount, and then all the repetitive details. I had the drunk’s desire to obliterate the past, where these tedious matters of context resided, and the future, where there lay further occasions on which I would have to explain them. I wanted to go to the sofa, to the fridge, and when I remembered that they were both buried beneath pulverised brick, I only wanted them more. I had watched my flat disintegrate around me, and it made this meeting, Eddie’s opinion of me, everything else, seem trivial. Especially as the chance to avert catastrophe was long past. I was calm. No, not calm – I roiled inwardly. But I was pointed forward, not locked in my usual grid of anxieties.

‘I’ve already been over that with Eddie,’ I said, ‘and Kay. Do you mind if we skip it, for now? I want to know what’s going on, with Kay, with Freya. With me.’

‘Sure,’ Polly said, smiling without pleasure. ‘Of course. You have a right to know. Short version: big changes. Eddie is stepping aside, I’m sad to say, and I will be taking over as editor from Monday.’

She was looking at me, for my reaction. I didn’t have one. How could I react? My worst speculations had been exceeded. But at the same time it made little material difference to the expected outcome. I swallowed, and said, ‘Go on.’

Polly tilted her head, as if she had expected more, and looked down at her notes. ‘As you know, the financial picture isn’t good. In fact, it’s very bad – existential. Eddie has done everything he can to avoid redundancies. But the urgency has become overwhelming. Ilse is taking voluntary redundancy, which’ – Polly let a hiss of air past her teeth – ‘is probably more expensive than keeping her on, because she’s on an Errol contract. We also have to lose Kay, and one of the Rays.’