‘I received an email from Sasha’s accountants this morning. She can’t pay us the money she owes us. She’s gone bankrupt.’

Sasha, whose father is an oligarch, bankrupt? Sasha, who lives in a palace? Sasha, who swans around in a private jet travelling to fashion shows between ballet performances?

‘How can she be bankrupt?’ I ask.

‘Same as the next person. By spending more than she has, with no control.’

‘But … but …’ I splutter. ‘We had her credit checked.’

‘That was three years ago. And I spoke to our bank yesterday. They said they can’t extend the loan.’

I clench my fist and bang it on my desk. ‘No. The bank will have to extend the loan. We’ve worked too hard to go under. I will not allow us to.’

‘What do you suggest we do then?’ he asks.

‘Who’ve you been dealing with at the bank?’

‘Paul Templeton.’

‘Get on to his boss, Jane Prescott.’ He lifts his eyebrows questioningly. ‘I was at Cambridge with her. Mention my name. It’ll help.’

Slowly, slowly, he shakes his head. ‘The old school tie rigmarole doesn’t work these days. Trying to court favour could even work against us.’

‘Don’t complain – just do what I say,’ I beg.

‘OK. Will do,’ he says as he leaves the room.

I sit, head in my hands, electric waves of panic rising inside me. My husband is about to leave me for his first love. My business is about to sink. I feel as if I’m falling off a precipice.

17

Hayley

I slip out of the house to meet my boyfriend, Jono. Not long off the plane from New Zealand, I met him at Fabric night club in London. I went with Isla, who had been volunteered by the friend of a friend to welcome me to the UK. Meeting me at Heathrow airport and letting me sleep on the floor of her damp basement flat in Earl’s Court until I found my feet. Until I got a nanny job with accommodation.

We were dancing to Carl Cox’s classic DJ set. She’d given me an E. I was jumping and pumping to the music, when Jono and his mate Vic approached us and began to dance close. Vic became entangled with Isla. Jono was pumping in time with me. Jono gave us all some more E.

At four-ish we took an Uber back to Jono’s squat. Wasting time with a man my parents wouldn’t approve of really gave me a hit. A wiry man, covered in tattoos and piercings, living in a squat. Underground. Rebellious. Offering me neat whisky from the bottle. Smelling of cannabis, nicotine, and another world that I had never been part of.