“You stay at The Manor most nights. There are only so many times I can clean the bathrooms and floors around here. I may as well be a housekeeper there.”

I laugh. “You don’t want to be a housekeeper here, Cathy, trust me.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I used to ride horses in Ireland, you know. I’d whip that place into shape in no time using one of those floggers of yours.”

I fall apart laughing at my desk, imagining Cathy, my dear, wholesome housekeeper, cracking a whip in the communal room. “I know you would, Cathy. But I need you at my place.”

“What for, boy? You’re hardly ever here for me to cook for. You drop washing off sporadically. Honestly, finding your ski equipment here the other day was the highlight of my week.”

I smile. I knew it would be, hence I dropped it off on my way through. She’s indirectly telling me that I should be at home rather than lording it up here. I’ve tried being at home. Numerous times. It’s torture of the worst degree. I’m not good at being on my own, especially when drink is added to the lonely mix which, inevitably, it always is. That rental has been sitting there for years, mostly unlived in. But it serves as a great crash pad on the odd occasion the boys and I venture into the city on a night out. My new penthouse at Lusso can’t just be a crash pad. Not at ten million fucking quid. “Well, my new place is somewhat larger than the rental. It’ll keep you busy.”

“And will you be living there?”

“Yes,” I reply. You’re a deluded prick, Ward. “I plan on it, yes.” I planned on staying at the rental too, but the rental is cold, sparse, and unhomely. My new place is anything but. I ignore the part of my brain that’s currently telling me Lusso will just be another discarded part on my never-ending pile of attempts to fix myself. The car, the bikes, the apartments miles away from here. They’re all supposed to help me escape. But they don’t. Nothing helps me escape. I glance across to my drinks cabinet again. Well, not really nothing. Another glance at the clock.

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see it,” Cathy chimes. “When do you move in?”

“A week Saturday.”

“Great. I’m off to polish your snowboard.” She hangs up, and my eyes remain fixed on the clock, watching the second hand glide around the face. I roll my shoulders. Stretch my legs under my desk. Swipe a hand through my hair. Run. I should run. I rise from my chair to go change into my running gear just as Sarah strides in.

“Your noon meeting will be here soon.”

My arse falls back down to the seat. “What noon meeting?”