At five, I couldn’t stand it any longer. As I left my desk, Lyric called, ‘Happy holidays!’ Others repeated it: Happy holidays. Happy holidays. It sounded like mockery. ‘Thank you so much,’ I managed to babble. ‘Not a lot of R&R, I’m afraid. Things to take care of around the house, you know.’

Happy holidays. It’s Monday now, and happy holidays is still stuck in my ears. On the weekend, Chanel asked why I kept shaking my head. Not that it was any use: I couldn’t dislodge Lyric’s voice. Happy holidays – it has a sinister ring. Did Lyric know that this week would hold neither holidays nor happiness for me? Will a message come, commanding me to return to the Department at once? At my table in The Coffee Spot, I keep switching my phone off, on, off. Chanel said that if Lyric intended to report me, they’d have done so right away. But Lyric might be planning to leave me my break and report me next Monday, when I return. On the other hand, there were those seven magpies this morning: Seven for a secret never to be told. I took heart and switched on my phone. At once it went pang. Pang pang pang, it insisted. I’ve switched it off again.

It’s much cooler today, and if the forecast is correct, Ivy will have perfect weather tomorrow. We have plenty to do with all the preparations, but Chanel shooed me out of the house at nine. She said that exercise would relax me, so I came here. Passing the gym, I saw a notice on the door about train spotting. Wow! Gyms have really diversified, I thought, before realising that it was sports training. It’s not just the situation at work that’s stressing me out – this morning there was a pale patch on my left elbow. At present we can keep our affliction hidden, but what happens if it spreads to our faces and hands? Chanel is going to call Qing’s receptionist to insist on a Zoom appointment for me this week, but what good will it do? Dermatologists and laboratories around the world are mystified. ‘They all come back to me with the same conclusion,’ says Qing. ‘The loss of pigmentation is the only abnormality they can detect. Everything else points to ordinary, healthy skin.’

Chanel will be out all day – errands, massage, hairdresser, nail bar, Qwik Lift Tweakment Klinik. Her last stop will be a florist’s. Flowers wouldn’t have occurred to me, but Chanel is endlessly caring. When she goes home, she’ll empty our vases of their artificial blooms and fill them with jonquils, roses, lilies, overstated peonies – all the scented waste of money that Ivy craves.

At home, Fanta is in charge of Ivy. She arrived early, carrying the pink dress. It shimmered in its dry-cleaner’s plastic sheath. Fanta’s eyes were the same colour – she must have been crying again. The dress has been altered as well as cleaned and will fit perfectly when Ivy puts it on for her Joyful Occasion. As I was heading out, I heard Fanta assure her, ‘You look totally sick!’