‘I am! I—’

‘Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you at the moment but I can’t speak to you right now. We’ll talk when you get here.’ And he hung up.

Charlotte stared into space, feeling the adrenaline race around her. Was there anyone she wasn’t at war with right now? She was at odds with the world, dislocated, alone.

Walking slowly, she quickly rang her sister. ‘Mouse, it’s me.’

‘Fuck, Lotts!—’

‘Yes, yes I know, I’m dropping all the balls at the moment,’ she said wearily. ‘Please don’t you have a go at me too.’

There was a pause, her feisty sister wrong-footed by her im mediate surrender. ‘Christ, now I’m really worried about you.’

‘I’m f—’

‘And don’t say you’re fine. I know when you’re going off the radar.’

Charlotte looked upwards, swallowing back the tears. If she so much as sniffed, her sister would know and the game would be up. Busted. ‘Listen, I’m flying back this evening,’ she said, concentrating on keeping her voice steady. ‘I’ll be at the hotel for seven so just keep Ma calm till I get there and then you can all shout at me. But can you do me a favour first – can you grab me a dress and some shoes for tonight?’

‘. . . Okay,’ her sister replied with a sigh. ‘I think I’ve got a set of keys. What do you want?’

‘I don’t mean back home. Ask Matty at Selfridges what they’ve got in that would suit.’

Another pause. ‘You mean, you haven’t already got something lined up?’ She sounded incredulous.

‘Well I’d intended to get it sorted this week but there’s been no time.’

‘Lotts, it’s your wedding dinner! How can you not have got this sorted?’

‘Because it’s just a dinner.’ Her voice sounded reedy and thin. ‘I only need a dress to wear, that is all.’

‘But it’s supposed to be special! You should be excited.’

‘And I am.’

‘No, you’re the very definition of not excited. I’ve seen you happier taking out the bins.’

Charlotte didn’t respond. They both knew she’d never taken out the bins. ‘Okay, I’ll be there at seven. Thanks for your help, I’ll see you later.’ She got off the call quickly just as the first tears fell. She wasn’t sure how much she could take. She felt pushed to her limits with wedding demands, work demands: Stephen, Mouse, her mother, his parents, one hundred guests, Mateo, Hugh Farrer, Marina, Marina . . . She was failing them all. And behind all of it, all of them, was the one she had failed most of all. The one who would never forgive her.

She heard footsteps coming down a hallway; they sounded brisk, efficient . . . She didn’t want to be found here, crying in the corridor.

Straight ahead was a closed door. She turned the handle and found herself in an extraordinary open space: as in her bedroom, the ceilings were vaulted but down here the distinction between the ceilings and walls seemed to have become even more blurred, with the brick skeilings swooping all the way down to the floor into a series of thick, looped arches.