O switches off the recording and pours some more tea. I’m still tingling from the sound of Meera Bhango’s voice. I would be more convinced by her sweet and reasonable demeanour if I hadn’t seen her colleague Bernard Zborowski’s signature on the letter informing me that BigSky couldn’t take responsibility for my narcolepsy and that I’d waived my right to complain about side effects.

‘What do you think?’ O says.

‘I can’t see any point in pursuing Bernard now that he’s not at BigSky anymore,’ I say.

‘Of course you can’t pursue Bernard; you signed what you signed. But how about Meera Bhango? Would it be worth speaking with her? Maybe they can do something for you.’

‘My narcolepsy, you mean? Yeah, maybe.’ I’m actually not thinking about myself right now. I’m thinking about Mel, and Mel’s mum. And Antonio shagging me senseless before leaving town.

My Spacetime pings. It’s Roman. Blood rushes to various body parts, seemingly at random, and I’m suddenly conscious of the state of my hair.

‘Excuse me, O, I’m just going to take this Spacetime in my room.’

‘Enjoy,’ says O in a deeper baritone than usual.

Roman is sitting on a bus when he Spacetimes in. I position myself so that I’m on the edge of my bed, opposite him. I edit out most of the mess in my tiny room and brighten up my own appearance quickly before letting him see me.

‘So I searched the hotel records to find out who had rooms on the same floor as Melodie, especially the ones adjacent to hers. I’m working through the names, but so far I don’t see anyone suspicious. Thought you’d want to know.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. Then I stammer, ‘A-and I’m going to take off the earring tonight, I really am. It’s just that I need it for certain things.’

‘I reckoned you would ignore me,’ he says placidly. ‘Now, about her patron. The one who paid for the room?’

‘Yeah?’ I squeak. I can feel myself flushing.

‘Well, get this. Both rooms – the first suite where the door got broken, and the second one as well, were paid for by Antonio.’

I feel like Roman’s reached into my ribcage and grabbed hold of my insides, and how could that not show? It’s only Spacetime, so he can’t possibly notice how agitated I’ve got, or how my hands are shaking – right? And he definitely can’t know I’ve just been banged repeatedly by Antonio and his emergency condoms. I’ve got to get a grip.

‘But . . . Roman, that can’t be right. Antonio hasn’t any money. I mean, yeah, he’s a high-end yoga instructor, but none of those people have money-money. They rely on patrons themselves, they stay in rich people’s pool houses or spare villas. Antonio lives out of a backpack year-round.’