Later the theatre department performed a dance. All flashing knives and forks and sexy spoons, champagne bottles exploding, kettles boiling, and one woman with an elaborate candelabra on her head with lit candles, which was surely very dangerous, and Masha with metal wheels painted on her uncovered breasts. I drank more while I watched and I distinctly remember thinking – I should stop – and then thinking – ah, fuck it, let’s carry on.

Soon, the party started to bust out of itself. Things were falling apart, coming off the ceiling; the foiled decorations were torn and shredded; the atmosphere, too, was souring – women crying flumes of mascara, men getting aggressive with other men, or disappearing off with the wrong woman. I had no idea of the time. Hairpieces had come undone; skyscrapers had bent in two. A new punch was on the go and more cocaine was passed around. People lay about in disrepair, one unconscious woman’s breast bared to the world like a cream bun.

But to all the world, I felt unthwartable.

At some time in the morning someone started to play an accordion quite badly, though the song was sweet. Walter had a long glass of clear liquid, suspiciously neat. Most of his feathers had gone and he’d lost the wheel. Only the bicycle chain was left as he leant into a young Bauhäusler. Really, in the past month, he’d almost become a cad.

It was then that I saw Charlotte, in her green bedsheet and without a coat, walking in the snow toward the Georgium Park. I went through the last of the ruined city and took the steps two by two. Behind me I heard Walter call my name, but I didn’t stop.

Outside, the sun was nearly up. I was too drunk to feel the frozen air. Charlotte was ahead at the crossroads, and I shouted to her but she didn’t stop. I heard someone come up behind me: it was Walter, still holding his drink. ‘Where’s she going?’

‘No idea.’

She moved quickly, and kept on appearing and disappearing, like something supernatural. We hurried into the park, the trees so black the bark seemed burnt. We went past the mausoleum and the Ducal House, and though we kept on shouting her name, Charlotte didn’t answer. We passed armless Flora fleeing a stag, and several leering statues. Walter said at one point it felt as if we were walking into a trap, but I think he was just enjoying the melodrama.

‘Charlotte!’ I shouted, hearing my voice ring out amongst the frozen trees. We went further in, trying to find her where she was hiding from us. ‘Come on! This isn’t a game!’