It’s 5:54 p.m. I sit in reception at Martin Elstree’s office wearing my best job interview trouser suit, which I haven’t had time to press but have managed to de-cat-hair for the occasion. I’m wearing make-up and my hair is wrapped in a silk scarf that I nicked from O’s drawer. I sit with my legs crossed and every time someone asks me if they can help me I say that I’m being taken care of, even though a stream of people are steadily exiting the offices for close of business. I’ve got to wait it out. Eventually the receptionist will have to go on some errand and I can get the keys. I saw where she put them. In her top drawer, next to her Tic Tacs, with a ton of other keys.

It’s 5:59 and I’m sure I’m going to get kicked out, when the receptionist runs out of Post-its. I hear her telling a colleague that she’s forwarding calls while she makes a run to the supply closet.

When she goes through an interior door, I waste no time throwing myself across her desk, legs flipping in the air like a surfer mounting a board. I whip the drawer open triumphantly.

The keys are not there.

Fuck.

I look in other drawers, and then other other drawers. And just when I’m about to panic and run away, I find them. They’ve fallen inside a box of tissues. I rip them out and slam the drawer shut. A hank of torn tissue floats gently to the carpet as I hurl myself out of the office and into the corporate hallway, the lift, the lobby . . . I’m out of the building.

I did it! I’ve got his keys!

I can’t run in these heels but I walk fast towards Bank Station. Got to do this fast, before I lose my nerve. I hope he hasn’t changed the door code.

Rodney, I’m going in. I have Elstree’s keys, the bastard. I’m going to check his flat. I’m afraid he’s done something to O. If I don’t come out in an hour, I’ll need rescuing.

Shandy’s unicorn says, Wait, could this be dangerous? I think you should wait.

It’s fine, he’s not home. He’s at in a meeting at work. I heard the receptionist putting his calls through to a conference room.

You shouldn’t go in there alone.

Shut up, you’re just a bot. Tell Shandy what I said.

Convoys Wharf is super-posh. They are putting up another building alongside Martin’s and there’s a lot going on outside. A tall crane looms inside the walled building site, and I see pigeons and seagulls circling around both buildings. I never would have looked twice at them before.

I’m still thinking about Sidney’s damn message.