Once it was clear that Mel really had walked off the roof, I kind of lost my moorings. An ambulance came, and I waited in the lobby with Antonio as he paced, and cried, and punched a wall, and then the concierge had to bring him an ice pack. It’s all disordered in my mind, so I’m not clear what happened when. The police came. There were cups of tea. I spilled mine while giving a statement to a nice woman in uniform, and she ended up holding the cup for me while I drank. One of the desk clerks put a blanket over my shoulders and I felt foolish. Nothing happened to me. It’s Mel, broken, in an ambulance, but even that is wrong. Ambulances are for the living.

I didn’t cry, though. I kept saying I felt responsible, but the police constable didn’t write any of that down in my statement. She held my hands between hers for a moment after I signed my wobbly signature. Asked who she should call to come and get me. And that’s when Roman turned up, standing over us with his fists in his jacket pockets and a bowler hat on his head that hasn’t been in fashion for at least eight years. I didn’t know his name at first, of course, but he introduced himself and the constable – Yemisi – she knew him and she explained to me that he was an expert in technological crime and she got up and he sat down and I blurted, ‘She didn’t kill herself. Someone killed her from inside her head.’ That seemed to get his attention and the next thing I knew Roman and I were meeting Donato in a Stratford kebab shop and Donato was doing his ‘this is an official interview’ schtick amidst the Saturday-night rush of punters leaving the pubs and going for kebabs. Surreal doesn’t really begin to describe any of it.

Now Antonio has evaded the efforts of Sergio to stop him, he flings his arms around me.

‘They think you killed her! I don’t want anything terrible to happen to you, too, Charlie.’ He starts sobbing into my shoulder.

‘This isn’t Argentina, mate,’ says Donato, and I reply stiffly, ‘My friend comes from Brazil. Not all South American countries are the same.’

‘Yeah, I’m aware of that, Ms Aaron. The Met don’t beat people into giving confessions. We’re only talking. Calm down.’

‘Calm down?’ Antonio roars. ‘Are you—?’

‘Why not have some chips,’ says Roman in that soft, mellow way he has. He’s got up off the floor undismayed and smiles at Antonio even though Antonio must have loosened a couple of his teeth just now. Antonio ignores him and grips my body tighter.

‘Thank god I found you. O didn’t want to tell me where they’d taken you, but I insisted.’