When I woke up the next morning I felt like death. Whiskey, pills and sorrow sat on my chest and I could barely move. The pain down at the base of my spine was a dull nag. No matter what had happened in my life, I had to go to work so I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower.

I met Sophie in the corridor outside my room.

‘Your phone has been ringing for the last twenty minutes,’ she said.

I nodded wearily. ‘Sorry.’

‘You’re looking like hell. Are you ill? The grippe or something?’

‘No. You were right about the man.’ As I opened the door the phone started to ring again. ‘Wife. Three kids. Lying turd.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Clara. I just had this feeling. Take the day off. We’ll manage. Go home and beat your brains out. Is that the rat?’ She gestured towards the phone.

‘I suppose.’

She crossed the room and picked up the receiver. ‘Who is this? No, she’s not here. No, she won’t be in today. Or tomorrow. In fact, I think as far as you’re concerned she’ll never be in again. And goodbye to you too.’ She put the phone down. ‘Sounds nice. Very Upper East Side. Personally I like them a bit more squalid.’

I laughed a little.

‘Go home,’ she said.

‘No. I’d rather work.’

‘We’ll lunch,’ she promised and went back into her own room.

When we returned after lunch, he was outside my door leaning against the wall. He was, as usual, dressed immaculately, neither sight nor smell of Guinness. I unlocked my door. Sophie stood for a moment, her head slightly to one side. I gave her a little wave and she turned towards her own room.

‘You know where I am, if you need me.’

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ I said to him as I opened the door.

‘But I have a lot to say to you.’

‘You needn’t bother. I really don’t want to hear anything.’ I stood in the half-open doorway and stared at him and I thought how I wanted him to throw his arms around me and tell me it had all been a terrible mistake. His friend had been telling lies. He was free as air and he loved me. Me. Only me. And I would cry on his shoulder and the pain in my back would go and it would be happy ever after for us both. Fuck fairy tales, I said to myself.

‘Anything,’ I repeated.

‘You don’t know how miserable I’ve been. I haven’t slept. I haven’t been to work.’

‘I do hope there won’t be a stock-market crash.’

‘Clara …’

‘What did the anagram have to say about the Guinness? Don’t tell me. She doesn’t know. You stopped off at the club and showered and trotted home in your squash gear.’