Then Jazzy said, “Your boyfriend is such an arsehole,” and it turned out it was sympathy after all.

Chapter 24

Harmony moved out of the Blackfriars flat two days later.

Jazzy didn’t help her move boxes – “Darling, that’s not my style!” – but phoned her seven times to make sure she was doing it, to exclaim, “Don’t stop for the wanking cock-shite!” and “Forget that fucker!” and other odes to encouragement.

Jiannis screamed at her. “Stay there! STAY THERE! STAY RIGHT THERE! YOU WILL DO AS YOU’RE FUCKING TOLD!”

And when that didn’t work, and the man with a van – little more than a kid, eighteen years old with sticking up, gel-slick hair – found the entire thing objectionable enough to overcome his universal apathy and plant himself squarely between Jiannis and Harmony, he seemed to crack.

“Babe, I love you,” he exclaimed. “I love you. I’ve only ever wanted to look after you, you know that. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. We’re going to get married; we’re going to get married; it’s going to be – you know I’ve only ever wanted to . . . ”

She wanted to tell him that she knew he was wrong. That he had programmed her to be happy. He had drugged her not to care. But she thought that if she said it, she’d run out of energy, any energy at all, she’d never make it into the lift, and besides, the boy with the van would judge her, would marvel that she’d let things get this far, and right now it mattered so much to her – so much – that this stranger didn’t think she was stupid.

So she said nothing at all.

In the end, Jiannis threw himself in front of her, kneeling, pressing his head against the burgundy luxury Saxony heavyweight carpet that lined the corridor by the gorgeous Bontoft-brand polished black titanium elevators, and when the lift came she stepped past him, and the boy carrying the last of her boxes made a tut-hiss sound between his puckered lips and shook his head as if to say, “Mate, like . . . mate!’ – which was, in its way, the ultimate condemnation a man might give.

Harmony moved into a bedsit in Lambeth, Phuong and Hailey above, Mr and Mrs Patel below.

“I can laugh when things ain’t funny, hey, hey, hey, hey!” trilled Mr Patel in the shower.

“I can’t!” hollered Mrs Patel from the room next door. “I don’t think anyone else can either!”

Jazzy joined her that first night, and brought a bottle of champagne.

For the first time in a very, very long while, Harmony got drunk.

A real drunk.

You appear to be above your recommended alcohol limit. Would you like to browse our range of products?

“Fuck men,” exclaimed Jazzy, stretching out her long, curved legs in silk stockings. “Fuck them. Never liked Jiannis. Pompous prat.”

“I know you’re saying that to make me feel better, but please don’t.”