My giggle turned to a comically deep gasp. “Shit, Freddie, you scared me.”

“I scared you?” he said, leaning his billiard cue against the wall. “Imagine how I felt, coming in for a peaceful game of snooker, only to have a strange blonde fall through my wall.”

Sheepishly, I pulled off the wig. “It was an experiment.”

“The hair, or the passage?” he asked.

“Both,” I said. “This will sound stupid to you, given everything that’s happening with Eleanor, but I got sick of staring at fabric samples so I decided to—”

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Freddie said. “I used to give my PPOs the slip all the time. I strolled right into that card company you worked for, remember?”

“I do. Because it was the same day Lacey and I led the paparazzi on a wild-goose chase, and Nick got so mad at us for it.” I pursed my lips. “He might not be very happy that I went rogue here, either.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Freddie said.

“Keeping secrets from him hasn’t worked out that well for us so far,” I said.

Freddie picked up his cue and chalked the tip thoughtfully. “You’re assuming all secrets are morally equivalent,” he said.

“I’m just trying to think like your brother.”

“Think like yourself,” he said. “If you need to tell him, tell him. But no one got hurt. You needed to feel normal for one second. He understands how that feels. I know I do.”

I rubbed the felt on the table. It was pilling. “Everyone else has real responsibilities right now and I’m spinning my wheels. I feel really fucking useless.”

He scratched his chin. “Frankly I’m a bit cross I didn’t think of doing your trick here myself. Or at least sneaking in a strange blonde or three that way.”

“Oh, please, all your strange blondes come in the front,” I said.

He smirked.

“Ew, that is not what I meant,” I said, but I was laughing.

He gave me a more complete once-over. “Speaking of, is this what passes for role play in your house, Killer? You look like Mrs. Doubtfire’s niece.”

We laughed even harder, and I was overcome with the sensation of having something returned to me, or finding the last missing piece of a jigsaw I’d been doing for weeks.

“I miss you,” I blurted out.

Freddie didn’t react; he just handed me his snooker cue. “Break?”

“I don’t know how to play.”

“Easily fixed.” Freddie began lining up the red balls in the triangular rack. “Knickers might not like this, either, you know.”

“He ought to be past that by now. We all should,” I announced boldly. “I want my friend back. And I want to meet your girlfriend.”