I go and get the room key, then head to the lift and press ‘Down’.

‘Charlie, are you there? Something’s happening . . . Someone threw themselves off the roof. It’s a crowd, people are being told to keep back—’

Then the link breaks.

I run for the fire stairs. There are five flights of them to climb. Here are the thoughts that are running through my head:

It can’t be her. It’s just a horrible coincidence. The person who jumped is probably one of those businessmen with a guilty conscience because he swindled old people out of their life savings and got caught.

What if someone pushed her?

What if someone pushed her and they are still up there? What if I meet them on their way down?

What if I go up there to see if someone pushed her and I get accused of pushing her myself?

It can’t be her.

With that horrible chatter in my head, I take the steps two at a time. I really should exercise more. I’ll start tomorrow. I’ll volunteer for charity work. Also, I’ll eat kale. Please just let Mel be OK.

I call Antonio three times and leave increasingly breathless messages.

I am on the roof. The door is already open. It has been wedged with a fire extinguisher.

I step outside.

‘Uh, Melodie?’

Nobody is here. Just wind and sky. The rain is chucking down. I can hear sirens. I can see cranes sticking up all over town and I can smell diesel. This isn’t the Dream City. Those sky bridges and luminous canals aren’t real. This darkness is real.

The sirens are coming this way.

My Spacetime pings.

Antonio is sobbing.

TRANSCRIPT

[continued]

CA: Are you blocking my lifi?

DC: They don’t have lifi here.

RP: There’s pizza, if that helps.

CA: Six-G, then. Phone, even. If I’m not being detained, why can’t I communicate with anyone?

RP: You can. We’re not stopping you.

CA: But I tried my AR piece and it doesn’t— Whoops! Sorry, I had it on airplane. My bad. Can I just check my messages— Oh, here’s O calling now. I better take this. She’ll be worried.

RP: Tell her you’ll call her back.

CA: O? I’m so sorry, I was on airplane. No, I’m still in London, I meant— Never mind. You what? Mel trended? Yeah, I’m answering questions. No, not Scotland Yard. Where? Um . . . dunno, somewhere in Stratford.

RP: [whispering] Should I turn off the recording?

DC: [mutters] Let it run. The mic will pick up the conversation, we can enhance it.

CA: It’s Kafkaesque, actually, if Kafka’s stories were set in chippies. No, I just keep falling asleep. Is Antonio still there? Can you tell him— Oh. When did he leave?

DC: Tell her you’ll call her back.