Carrie is long gone. Off to Moscow alone, after all we’ve been through. It was obvious last night that she felt nothing for me. I gave her my friendship. My love. But it was nothing to her.

My head buzzes from the sleeping tablet that I washed down with the vodka, only a few hours ago. I’d been too wired to sleep after what happened with Sergei. Most of the memory is intact, but there are parts that are blurred at the edges. I should feel more, I know this. But I suspect the drugs are taking that from me too, and I’d prefer if it stayed that way, for now, at least. I need to deal with the practicalities before I deal with the emotions.

A quick glance around and it’s clear that he’s made a decent job of cleaning the room, but I suppose it’s his job. Or one of them, at least. He’ll be on his way to Moscow now too, I assume. Six-hour flight, he told me. Incredible that this country is so vast.

And I am here alone.

Calling Ivan last night was an impulse decision. A risk. When he’d handed me his card in the taxi and told me to contact him for anything I needed, I’d assumed he meant sex. But as it turns out, he’s much more versatile with his services. He was more than happy with my roll of emergency dollars too.

I wander out onto the balcony and peer down at the alleyway behind. There’s a large, dark stain directly beneath me, but it looks like it could be anything: water from a leaking drain, oil from a clapped-out engine. So far, no one seems to have noticed it.

Why would they?

I head back inside, leaving the balcony doors open to air the room. I imagine the cleaners will be surprised at how spotless the place is.

Perhaps I should tell them not to come in.

I planned to check out today, but I’m going to have to stay for another night at least. I hope Carrie settled the bill.

I throw on cut-offs and Carrie’s vest, pick up my shoulder bag with the guidebook inside, and head down to reception.

The receptionist, as usual, is plugged into headphones, glued to the TV.

I have to bang my hand on the desk to get her attention, and she jumps slightly, then just looks pissed off.

‘Yes.’ It’s not even a question.

‘Did Carrie … did the other girl check out already?’

‘Your friend, yes. Very early. Walked out fast. Didn’t pay.’

‘She didn’t pay when we checked in?’

The receptionist shakes her head. ‘Didn’t pay. You pay, OK?’

‘I need to draw out some cash.’