But I glanced back to see the man in the suit and tie on his feet, grinning and clapping, leading my standing ovation.

As if he was proud of me.

I slept until the maid arrived to turn down the bed in the early evening. Outside it was already dark and the piercing red emergency lights on top of all the tall buildings lit up the Tokyo night. Those red lights were everywhere, making the sky a constellation of man-made stars, a Milky Way in scarlet.

I phoned home. ‘They bloody loved me!’

Christian laughed with triumph. ‘I knew they would bloody love you! You should have more faith in yourself, Tara. I told you they would love you.’

It was true – he had kept telling me they would love me. Before I left home, when I was fretful and sleepless at the prospect of public speaking, Christian had predicted that they would love me at the conference. But I knew I would never have nailed it – and they certainly would not have loved me – without the advice of the man in the next seat. But I didn’t mention the advice, or my neighbour in the next seat, and I was happy for Christian to feel that he had been proved right.

‘How’s Tokyo?’

I looked out of the window at the city fifty floors below. This high up, Tokyo seemed infinite but totally empty of all human life. It felt like a long way from home.

‘It’s great, but I wish you and Marlon were here.’

There was some child-and-dog disruption at the other end of the line.

‘Marlon? Buddy doesn’t want you to kiss him, OK? Marlon? Not on the mouth. That’s – no, you listen to me – that’s how humans express affection, not dogs.’

Our son. Our dog. A debate about one of them kissing the other.

‘I’ll let you go,’ I said.

‘Never let me go.’

‘Hah! Love you.’

‘Love you too! And well done, Tara. I’m so proud of you. See you in a couple of days. Enjoy Tokyo. You’ve earned it.’

I let my husband, my son and our dog carry on with their day on the other side of the world and I stared out the window at the winking red skyline of the Tokyo night.

Eight hours ahead of home, the day was winding down out here.

And suddenly I was nowhere near sleepy.

3

Tara

He was sitting alone at the bar on the fifty-second floor, a different kind of attractive from my husband. I could tell that women had told him he was good looking all of his life, and he had believed them. I walked over to where he was sitting.

‘Hey, thanks for the public speaking tip,’ I said.

He shook his head and smiled. Good teeth on a man pushing forty, just a shade too white.

‘I wish I could claim credit for the advice,’ he said. ‘They’re the words of Sir John Mills.’