Samir gritted his teeth. ‘There’s no need to take out your frustrations on me, Mr Cleverley,’ he said. ‘I’m simply trying to help.’

George nodded. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘I apologize, Samir. None of this is your fault. It’s just been an incredibly stressful week, that’s all.’

‘George.’

A voice from his left made him turn around, and his heart sank as a woman appeared from the waiting area and made her way slowly towards him.

‘Oh, Jesus wept,’ he said, pressing his hand to his forehead. ‘Who the hell let her in?’

‘She said she was your sister,’ said Samir. ‘And that she’d come to offer her support.’

‘She’s not my bloody sister,’ snapped George. ‘My sister lives in Los Angeles with a woman old enough to be her mother and she hasn’t spoken to me in years due to a misunderstanding entirely unrelated to my current troubles.’

‘I can ask her to leave, if you like,’ said Samir.

‘No, it’s fine. She’s a … a friend. Thank you, Samir. If you could just give us a moment.’

The security guard nodded and made his way back outside, where the crowds had put down their banners and were taking selfies with a remarkably friendly Gordon Brown, who had shown up to pre-record an episode of Celebrity Mastermind.

‘Angela,’ said George, smiling broadly as he greeted his visitor.

‘You’ve been ignoring my text messages,’ she replied.

‘Not deliberately,’ he said. ‘Responding has been on my to-do list, along with saving my job and trying to stop my daughter from contracting leprosy.’

‘We have to talk,’ said Angela. ‘This baby isn’t going away.’

‘Of course we do,’ he said. ‘Now, I’ve forgotten, how far along are you now?’

‘Four months.’

‘Right, so we’re anticipating a Christmas miracle. That’s another present I’ll have to buy.’ He laughed to himself and looked at his erstwhile lover, hoping that perhaps she would laugh, too, but her face remained rigid.

‘I told you before,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want anything to do with the baby or with me, then you just need to say so. I don’t want to be left in limbo, that’s all.’

‘I believe the last pope got rid of limbo,’ said George. ‘Or cancelled it, as they say. Or maybe it was the present pope. One of them anyway. Was it the one who lives in the bed and breakfast or the one who lives in the garden shed? Honestly, you’d think one of them would just move into the papal suite, wouldn’t you? It’s got to be a lot more comfortable.’

‘Why are you rambling like this?’ asked Angela. ‘Are you just trying to fob me off?’