The night becomes a blur of sensations. And late, late in the evening when most of the nondancers have left, I feel galvanized. I go to find Gianluca.

I see Sandra first: she’s facing outward, the light from the main room catching her face in the darkened hallway. She bends at the waist, dropping like a stripper and grinding her hips into the man behind her: who I now see is Gianluca. He has one hand on her hip, the tips of his fingers hidden beneath the waistband of her tight pants, his other hand is in her hair, fingers wrapped around the silky black strands.

This is how it starts. My heart is racing and I am trying to convince myself that none of it matters. Aren’t I having so much fun? But then, the loop, the loop. Of course he doesn’t want you, no one wants you, you’re nothing next to these people, you’re fat now and broken and a sorry excuse for a woman, you lost Luke, you lost Penny and Blair, you lost . . . you lost . . . you’re lost.

I make my way to a back bathroom and close the door before curling myself up on the floor. The cool marble of the immaculate floor is a comfort against my cheek, but it’s not enough. I feel my throat go cold and tight, my hummingbird heart feels as though it will explode, and my chest is a giant knot being pulled tighter and tighter. The adrenaline cancels the depressive effects of the alcohol, and time stands still. I have been here forever and I will be here forever.

I wake up the next morning in a plush, unfamiliar bed, my mind muddy and my limbs heavy. I feel a flicker of panic but I’m too exhausted for it to take hold. I glance at the bedside table to find a half-full glass of water and a prescription bottle on its side. Lorazepam 4 mg tablets. Now I remember and I’m flushed with embarrassment. Edward found me lying on my side. He was so kind, he helped me to bed and gave me the drugs. “Take one, take two,” he’d said. “The best thing now is to sleep.”

What had I said in response? Had I told him anything?

It didn’t used to be like this. I was tough once, resilient. But now it’s as though I live in the attic of a towering house where parts of the floor have rotted away. At any moment, I could make a wrong move and I’ll fall forever.

I get out of bed gingerly. I’m wearing a pair of Edward’s pajamas. I find my clothes folded neatly on a chair. I change and walk out into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Gemma says. “Oh you poor darling, come sit. I’ll make you some toast.”