I arrive at the Princess Grace just before lunch. It’s unlike any hospital I’ve ever seen. For one thing, it’s quiet. O has a private room on the first floor with a couple of nice armchairs and a small table and fresh flowers beside the bed. She is sitting in one of the armchairs playing chess on a holographic board, and I don’t know if it’s the lighting or my imagination but she looks older and her face is drawn. The blue patches under her eyes are exaggerated.

‘I brought you soup,’ I announce, tapping on the open door. She doesn’t react at first and I wonder if she’s heard me. She moves a rook and then says, ‘Did you make it?’

‘It’s takeout from Marylebone, you cheeky woman.’

‘Let’s have it, then. It looks like I’m stuck here. Waiting on test results.’

I pull up a chair opposite the holographic chessboard and open the lid on the takeaway soup. It’s still really hot.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been here before this. I had a pretty bad narcoleptic attack yesterday.’

She doesn’t look at me. All her attention is on the board.

‘Birds OK?’

‘Yes, they’re all well and accounted for.’

‘I sent Muz home. He’s tired. Jez has been helping.’

‘And you? How are you feeling? What even happened? You fainted?’

‘I stood up to go to the loo. I thought I’d be all right to walk but you know how low my blood pressure is sometimes. It was just a miscalculation.’

‘You’re sure you didn’t doze off, O? It’s important.’

‘Of course not.’

I’m fairly sure she’s lying. Why? To spare me worry, probably.

I try to think of something to say that doesn’t sound patronising. I want to say, What were you thinking? Don’t do that, etc., but it’s not my place to tell her what to do, and even if it were, she would surely bite my head off.

So instead I tell her about Bernard. How he sent us packing, how I tried to dreamhack him and he ended up dead. I omit the part about Daphne. I think she senses I’ve skated over something because she looks at me oddly, but she doesn’t pursue it. She’s sipping the soup, both hands curved around the paper cup, shaking.

‘O, are you all right with that? It’s hot.’

She puts the soup down and blots her upper lip. She doesn’t mince words.

‘So he’s dead and you think the Creeper did it.’ Her gaze is flat. No way to tell what she’s thinking.