‘Stop!’ I shout, and they all do. Mouths hanging open. I hadn’t meant to shout, but the noise was too much, frittering around my brain, and I was sick of their inane chatter. I wanted a proper conversation with Carrie, in our cabin, about life and love and things that matter. But I could see the look on her face – that wary look that I’ve seen people get before, and I realised my mistake. So while they’re all still staring at me, mouths agape, I gestured to the barmaid to bring more drinks, and I said in a stage whisper, ‘I’m sorry, but you’re all completely mad. Everyone knows that the Germans make the best chocolate. Have you never had Ritter?’

And then the babbling starts again, and the drinks arrive, and Carrie grins up at me and I know I’ve got away with it, for now.

‘Hey, watch it.’ A short guy in a tight suit bumps me out of the way, and I realise I’ve daydreamed my way all along the street. Somehow, on some in-built autopilot, I’ve made it to the bank. It’s useful when your father is a real VIP, with fingers in many businesses and banks around the world. I catch sight of myself in the shiny metal entrance next to the glass doors. I look bedraggled, and in need of some proper attention. All I need to do now is pick up my card, draw some cash, and then I can sort everything out. Hair, clothes, proper hotel. Everything is going to be just fine.

It always is.

35