Love on the Air

9

A week had passed since London and neither Leo nor I had said a word about the moment in the hotel. The warmth and ease I’d felt during dinner had disappeared, and instead Leo had turned into a kind of polite robot.

I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark somehow; missed some sort of sign that I was making him uncomfortable. Maybe I never should have invited him to my room in the first place? But nothing had actually happened between us, and ‘staring at each other intensely’ was hardly salacious. In the end, I had put the whole thing down to my imagination, convincing myself that the jet lag, exhaustion and sheer magic of being halfway across the world had made me feel something towards Leo that had never been there.

I wondered what Leo had put it down to. Had he spent the whole flight home going over and over it in his head like I had? I wondered if he looked at me differently now, in the same way that every time I looked at him I remembered the colour of his eyes as he stared at me that night. How the air had been sucked out of the room.

Instead of talking about it, we threw ourselves into work. Tom and I lived in our studio for the better part of the week, recording mock shows, planning segments, recording intros and perfecting interview edits. Tom on his side of the desk, and me on my side. Just like it had always been. It felt like being home again. From a logistical point of view, he always did the button pushing and I did the talking. Although he often did a bit of talking too, much to our listeners’ delight. The technical term for ‘pushing the buttons’ is ‘panelling’, and while I knew how to do it, it never came as naturally to me as it did him. It came to him so naturally, in fact, that he’d been known to engage in a litany of non-work-related activities while simultaneously panelling a live radio show to millions of listeners without missing a beat. These activities included but were not limited to: ordering Uber Eats, watching YouTube dance tutorials, and even sexting. He’d also developed a quick way to figure out if a male caller who ‘sounded hot’ was actually hot IRL (plug their phone number into Facebook to secure a headshot). More often than not, this all happened while the caller was still on air trying to win tickets to P!nk.

The show had my name on it, but everyone knew Tom was as much a part of the on-air product as I was.

And so, like an old Gucci loafer (they age beautifully and get more and more comfortable over time), we slid back into our old routine—this time with a much bigger budget and a lot more pressure.

Leo came in sporadically, usually with forms that needed filling out or documents that needed signing. He’d never once got in our way as I’d initially suspected he would, but instead gave insight when it was appropriate, all the while looking past me and never at me.

It was hard not to take it personally. If nothing else, I’d thought we were becoming friends. There’d been such an ease between us that night at dinner in London, and I’d seen a side of him that was soft and funny and pretty likeable. All of that seemed to have disappeared now, and I found myself wishing that I’d never met ‘fun Leo’ in the first place. It would have been easier to ignore him completely if I really did still think he was an arsehole.

I had filled Tom in, of course, but to protect my sanity we’d agreed in the lift that morning to never discuss it again. I was glad he knew, and equally glad that we’d put it to bed and were getting on with more important things. Like the fact that our career dreams had come to fruition ten years early and we had a radio show to launch in a matter of days.

The rest of the team fell into place. It only took a week for us to realise that Georgia would one day run the place, such was her immense proficiency. Her jumping ship from Darren’s show to mine was yet another excuse for him to hate me, but I’d soon learned to completely ignore the scowls that emanated from his annoying face every time our paths crossed in the office. Our audio producer was a quiet (they’re always quiet) Scottish guy called Ferg who spent even longer in his studio than we did. He had worked on Goldie’s show for five years and was as impressive as he was understated.

On Friday morning, three days before the show launch, Tom and I held hands as the screens were turned on in the studio, revealing our shiny new show artwork. This time my teeth had been left as is, my hair looked natural, and I looked like myself. I was wearing a simple denim mini dress, cinched in at the waist, with a single gold bangle on my wrist. It was classic, but it was me. Above the image were the words ‘The Alex York Breakfast Show’. Tom squeezed my hand. The whole thing felt completely surreal.

The heavy studio door opened behind us, and I breathed in a subtle hint of Tom Ford. I want to say that my heart didn’t do a teeny tiny little jump, but it absolutely did. Not that anyone would have known, because I didn’t so much as flinch.

‘Well done, guys. It looks good. It sounds good. You should be proud.’

I opened my mouth to give Leo a polite thankyou, and was overjoyed to find Goldie gliding in behind him. She was beaming at me, but I could see the shimmer of tears emerging. I tried to imagine what it must have felt like for her to see my face on that wall after twenty-five years. I opened my mouth to speak, but I knew I would cry if I dared. Instead, I reached out and hugged her. She felt tiny in my arms.

‘Thank you, Goldie,’ I whispered into her ear as I held her.

‘Thank you , my girl. This is how it was meant to be. I promise. You belong here,’ she whispered back.

Goldie stood back and cleared her throat as she looked around the room at us all.

‘Now. Joanie and I are off tonight. To Italy. And then France. And Switzerland. And wherever else we decide to go. The joy and freedom of unemployment awaits! Maybe we’ll just stay there forever. Who knows?’

‘What? You won’t be here for the launch?’ I asked, surprised.

Goldie smiled warmly. ‘No, my dear. And nor should I be. It’s not my show anymore. It’s yours. And I mean it with all the love in the world when I say that I absolutely won’t be listening. I’ll be too busy eating pasta and drinking limoncello with the love of my life, who has waited a very long time to have me all to herself.’

Of course, Goldie had earned the right to never turn the radio on ever again, and I suppose knowing she wasn’t listening took some of the pressure off. I imagined her and Joanie reclining on deckchairs in the Cinque Terre overlooking the bright blue ocean below, without a worry in the world. For some reason in this specific daydream Goldie was in a Dolce I wanted to check first.’

A wave of relief washed over me. I wasn’t sure how Leo had got my address but I was glad that he wanted to clear the air before the show started.

‘Thanks, May, I’ll come out in a second,’ I replied, grabbing a hair tie and a robe.

She stood in the doorway, blocking my exit. ‘I don’t think you understand. It’s … Jax. Jax is here.’

My stomach lurched. I hadn’t heard his name spoken out loud in months. Why the hell was my ex-boyfriend at my house? And why now?

‘I can tell him to go. I’ll tell him to go!’ she whispered.

I shook my head no and glanced at the mirror, tying my hair up and rolling my shoulders, willing myself to relax.

‘Thanks May. Let’s see what he has to say, I suppose.’

‘We’ll just be in the kitchen if you need us, darling.’

She brought her palm to my cheek and kissed me on the forehead as I walked past her through the door and down the hallway.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, and confidently opened the door. There, standing centimetres away with a smug look on his face that was instantly infuriating, was the man who had unceremoniously dumped my sorry arse and gone golfing, thus sending my life into a complete tailspin. He had not said a word to me since. But there he was. Standing on the doorstep. Holding a box of my stuff. I stood in silence, taking him in. He looked skinnier than I remembered, and he’d grown the kind of wiry beard that not even Robert Pattinson could have made hot. His eyes were as blue as ever, but they didn’t sparkle like I remembered.

Or maybe they never had. Maybe I had just imagined it the whole time.

‘What’s this about?’ I asked curtly.

He looked down at the contents of the box as he replied, ‘I thought I’d just drop over the rest of your stuff. I’m moving and didn’t know what else to do with it.’

‘Right,’ I spat, frustrated. ‘And you thought that tonight was the best time to do that? Of all the nights?’

He paused, confused.

‘What do you mean?’

Two possibilities occurred to me in that moment. Both of which proved once and for all that this guy was a top-tier douchebag. Either he knew I was starting my new show the next day and came around anyway. Or he had no idea. He was either purposely throwing me off or hadn’t bothered to keep tabs on me at all. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing either scenario upset me, so I changed the subject entirely.

‘Nothing.’ I reached over and grabbed the box. ‘Thanks. Good luck with the move.’

‘Yeah, thanks. I’m actually moving to Portugal. With Ana. We fly out in a couple of days.’

He was so nonchalant. So calm. I was beginning to seethe. He’d up-ended my life with no real explanation, no excuse. And just as I was beginning to find my feet again, here he was on my doorstep smiling, announcing his plans to move overseas with his new girlfriend. Anger swelled in my gut. All of a sudden, I wanted to rip his fucking head off.

He continued, ‘So, you’re still living with May and Billy?’

Unmoving, I just stood there. Despite my rising fury, the words weren’t coming. The silence was deafening. He was winning. Again. Why was I letting him win?

‘Yeah. Still here,’ I managed to respond.

For someone whose entire job revolved around quickly finding clever words to say, I was having a rough go of it tonight. The smug smile crept back across his stupid, ratty little face. ‘Crazy, hey? I’m off overseas and you’re living with May and Billy. Funny how things turn out.’

I stared back at him and, all of a sudden, something within me snapped. And the words began to flow.

‘You know what, Jax? Living here is actually great because it means I can save most of the exorbitant amount of money I get paid to host my new show. My breakfast radio show. Arguably the best radio job in the country. A job that I start tomorrow. Which you obviously already know about, otherwise you wouldn’t be here trying one last time to make me feel small in order to make yourself feel big.’

He furrowed his brow, taking a step back.

‘Don’t feign confusion. It’s not cute. And also, you’re not the only one with a passport. Work just sent me to London. I flew business class. And now that I don’t have you stealing my frequent flyer points all the time for your lame golf trips, I’ll probably head to New York in July. So, unless this box contains the three years of my life that you wasted, I don’t want it back.’ I chucked the box at his feet and grabbed the door handle. ‘And please shave. That beard is making me nauseous.’

I’d never actually slammed the door on somebody before. In fact, I didn’t think it was even something people did in real life. Kinda like how in movies people walk off in a huff. I’d never walked off in a huff. But slamming the door in his face felt as satisfying as I’d hoped. It also felt a little dramatic and over the top, which I wasn’t entirely angry about.

I was still standing in the hallway when I heard slow, careful footsteps coming towards me from the kitchen. Uncle Billy appeared wearing a Pink Floyd T-shirt, flannelette pyjama pants and Ugg boots that looked like they’d been worn every day since World War II.

‘I’m making grilled cheese toasties. I’ve even got a bit of leftover truffle. Want in?’ he whispered. He had a block of cheddar cheese in one hand and a grater in the other. I could tell May had forced him to come and coax me into the kitchen.

My head was still spinning and I was unsure whether I’d imagined the entire encounter as I dazedly followed him up the hallway to find May leaning against the oven, sipping a cup of peppermint tea.

‘The cheek of that spineless little weasel,’ she hissed, much to my amusement.

Billy immediately shushed her. ‘That’s enough May. I doubt that’s helpful.’

I interjected, ‘Actually, it is.’

Billy raised his eyebrows towards me and resumed the mammoth job of grating the cheddar as May continued. ‘He’s had, what, three months to give your stuff back? And he chooses the night before you’re due to start the biggest show of your career? I mean, how pathetic is that? At one point I was going to barge in and sock him one. I’m glad you got yourself together in the end there.’

‘You don’t think it was petty?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of pettiness every now and then, love. Especially when it comes to spineless weasels. Beat him at his own game. I’m proud of you.’

I smiled graciously as she passed me a cup of tea. ‘Thanks, May.’

Billy wiped off the grater and chucked it into the sink, turning the tap on. ‘I’ve got a question for you.’

‘Shoot.’

‘How much money would you classify as “exorbitant”?’

May gasped, whacking him with a tea towel.

I giggled as I covered my face with my hands. ‘Do you really wanna know?’ I peeked out at him through a gap in my fingers. ‘Because I’ll tell you. But you can NEVER tell Mum. Or anyone.’

Billy’s eyes were wide with anticipation. ‘I’ve never wanted to know anything more in my life, kid.’

I grabbed an old takeaway menu and a pen out of the drawer and scribbled down a number. ‘This is what will land in my account every month. After tax.’

He lifted up the paper to the light. His eyes grew wide as he clutched his heart with his left hand, before staggering around the kitchen pretending to have some sort of a seizure. May snatched the menu out of his hand, took a look and burst out laughing.

I was laughing too. ‘I suppose you’re going to start charging me rent, now.’

Billy calmed himself down and took a sip of May’s tea. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Al, we’re family. What I am going to do, however, is insist that you sit down with our financial planner because if you’re anything like your aunt over here—’ he was now waving a slice of sourdough at me ‘—you’ll soon have $62,000 worth of feather-trimmed pyjamas and no savings.’

May scrunched up her nose at him, then slowly looked towards me with guilty eyes. ‘He’s right, my darling. You’ve got an opportunity to really set yourself up here. You could even buy your own place.’

‘Is this your way of kicking me out? Have I not suffered enough tonight?’

‘Of course not. But you know we won’t be here forever …’

‘May—you’re fitter than I am!’

‘Darling, I mean in this house , not on Earth. This place is too big for us, and …’ she looked towards Billy, ‘we have been talking about downsizing. Maybe an apartment … with an ocean view.’

Billy cleared his throat and raised a finger in the air. ‘Side note, how much do you like truffle?’

‘Very much. Keep going.’ I turned my attention back towards May. ‘So … when you say you’re not kicking me out you mean … not just yet.’

May continued, ‘Oh calm down would you. It’s just a discussion we’ve been having lately. Anyway, you don’t wanna get stuck living here forever. We can make an appointment for you with our friend Henry. Just get a bit of advice. See what your options are. Would you do that? For us?’

The very thought of sitting opposite some old nerdy guy in a suit and admitting that I’d quite literally spent every dollar I’d ever earned on shoes (and feather-trimmed pyjamas) made me sick with dread.

‘Of course I’ll see him.’

There was no way I was going to see him. Not until I had something to show for my life that couldn’t be worn.

A sizzling sound crackled through the air as Billy pressed another grilled cheese toastie into the skillet. The scent of cheesy, truffley goodness filled the room.

‘Funnily enough, Leo suggested the same thing to me when we were in London.’

May’s head popped up like a meerkat’s as the words came out of my mouth.

‘Leo? The hot boss?’

‘Like I said, he’s not really my boss, but yeah. Him. Actually, when you came to my door I thought you were trying to tell me that he was here.’

May looked confused as I pressed on.

‘I’m glad it was Jax though, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to tell him how utterly disgusting that beard is.’

She raised her tea towards me as if it was a pitcher of beer and we were ten drinks down at Oktoberfest. ‘Hear hear! Now, do I want to know why you thought your married boss was knocking on the door on a Sunday evening?’

‘Oh. He’s not married after all. Well, he was. But he’s not now. And yeah. We’re just … very different. I dunno.’ I was now rambling, which would only encourage her more.

‘You know, Billy and I have absolutely nothing in common other than the same wedding date.’

‘Oh, and the kids,’ Billy chimed in as he passed me a toastie.

I’d heard this schtick a thousand times, but it was undeniably true. They had nothing in common. May drove a brand-new European car and Billy drove a Corolla that didn’t even have electric windows. She wore designer yoga gear and he generally looked homeless. She read novels as if they were her lifeblood and the only thing Billy had ever read was a menu. They had no common interests. No shared friends. And after forty-five years of marriage, they were still hopelessly in love.

I replied, a mouth full of cheese. ‘I know all this, but I don’t see how it’s relevant to Leo.’

May walked towards me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. ‘If I’d never got to know him, I never would have known how happy he could make me. And vice versa. The ways we are different are the parts about us that I love the most.’

I was starting to understand what May was trying to say.

‘Right. Well … in London I did kinda get to see a side of him that was … nice. But things got weird.’

Billy stood in silence, simultaneously munching away at his toastie and nodding at May with encouragement.

‘Well, don’t let it stay weird for too long. Life is too short, my dear,’ May chirped.

‘Thanks, Aunty.’ I shoved a piece of melted cheese into my mouth, licked my fingers and gave Billy a wink and high five before wrapping my arms around May in a giant bear hug. ‘Bedtime for me. I’m off at four tomorrow morning, so wish me luck now.’

‘You don’t need luck, kid,’ Billy declared confidently. ‘We’ll be listening!’

I blew him a kiss as I sauntered back towards my room with a tummy full of cheese, closing the door behind me and collapsing onto my bed. Underneath the covers I felt my phone buzz.

A text.

You’re going to be great. Brilliant, even. Leo.

What was it with the men with whom I had complicated relationships popping up tonight? What next? Was my dad about to knock on my window, apologise for the twenty-five-year absence and tell me to ‘break a leg’?

The text was sweet. Obviously. But the little hamster in my brain was back on the wheel, and it was about to start spinning. And it wasn’t going to stop spinning. And tonight, of all nights, I really needed a good night’s sleep. Why was life so cruel? And why were men so infuriating?

I was hit by the urge to indulge in a cheeky little Selfridges perusal, but as I reached down to the ground to grab my laptop I spotted my yoga mat rolled up in the corner. And then, it was as if I was possessed by some other responsible, mature version of myself. I got up, unrolled my mat and slowly collapsed into child’s pose. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way for me to deal with moments of anxiety or stress that didn’t involve spending money.

I’m not sure what time I eventually dozed off, but by the time I walked into the studio the next morning at 5 am, carrying a bag of McDonald’s hash browns, the adrenaline had well and truly kicked in and I felt as invincible as Adele that time she won four hundred GRAMMYs.

Tom was putting the final touches on the planning whiteboard when I arrived. Essentially a visual grid outlining the three-hour show, from 6 to am, he’d meticulously drawn every line with a ruler and colour-coded each section within an inch of its life. Hooks in red (the way we tell people what’s coming up in the show to keep them tuned in), competition spots in blue, pre-recorded interviews in green and content breaks in pink. Today we were playing the Tilly Roy interview in three parts, which took up most of the 8 o’clock hour, and then giving away tickets to her newly announced Australian tour—news of which had been embargoed until today and was sure to jam the phone lines. Once we’d all signed off on the show plan, Georgia transcribed it into a document and printed a copy for each of us. After a quick coffee run it was 5:50 am and we had ten minutes till showtime. I wondered if I should call everyone in for some sort of pre-show huddle. Or a Beyoncé prayer circle. Then I had a better idea.

An in-studio dance party. Courtesy of One Direction.

I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the image of Ferg the audio producer attempting a cartwheel when the chorus of ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ hit, but it instantly dissipated the last of my nerves as we all broke out in raucous laughter. There was fist-pumping, hip-thrusting and lots of pointing and clapping. Three minutes and nineteen seconds later, we all breathlessly high-fived, and with happy tears in my eyes I took a seat in my chair opposite Tom, just as I’d done hundreds of times before. He looked straight back at me and motioned surreptitiously over my shoulder. I swivelled my chair around to see Leo in his work uniform, standing on the other side of the glass. I gave him a thumbs up, which he returned somewhat awkwardly, then turned my chair back around and glanced at the clock.

Tom fiddled with the desk, pulling faders and adjusting microphones. ‘Live in two minutes, doll. You ready to do this?’

‘Sure am. Sorry again that I ditched you and disappeared to a desert island that one time.’

‘I’d say it all worked out pretty well.’

‘Me too, babe.’

‘One minute.’

I winked back at him, and before I knew it the show opener was playing out and I was seconds away from introducing the Alex York Breakfast Show for the very first time.

‘What a day to be alive, Sydney! My name is Alex York and we’re gonna have some fun today!’

We were off and away.

It was as if I blinked and the three-hour show was done, and I felt as though I had been carried on a wave of adrenaline, excitement and sheer disbelief that it was all actually happening every second of the way. As far as first shows go, it sounded pretty bloody good. The Tilly Roy interview was punchy, funny and super entertaining, and the first tickets to her show were awarded to a mum of two girls who sobbed so much she could hardly speak.

A ‘mystery caller’ phoned in at 8 am and was patched through by Georgia, and, while I was dubious at first, I was absolutely delighted to hear the loud, joyful tones of one Finley Stark down the line.

‘I’m just calling through to wish my favourite radio host in the world good luck on her first day at her big-girl job!’

‘Finley Stark, where are you in the world and are you in any state to be on live radio?’

‘Saint-Tropez. Surrounded by hot babes, free-flowing champagne and pure and utter debauchery! So, probably not, to be honest.’

Tom rolled his eyes across the studio as I chuckled. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘No, you don’t, Ms York,’ Finley gleefully retorted. ‘You’re far too wholesome. But perhaps your audience would like to hear about what you got up to recently when you came to visit little old me in London town?’

Tom winced. ‘I don’t think anyone needs to hear about that … Let’s keep it PG, please!’

Hearing Tom’s voice down the line only spurred Finley on more. ‘Here he is! The king of Soho himself … Mr Winter! You didn’t keep it very PG either. Where did you say those dancers were from? Essex?’

I laughed and a snort came out into the microphone, which made me laugh more. Finley was well and truly going rogue and I was loving every second of it, safe in the knowledge that we were on a seven-second delay and if he went too far Tom could very easily cut to a commercial break before anything too incriminating was broadcast.

‘Now, if memory serves me correctly, we did some sort of an interview while driving through the streets of Knightsbridge and I shared some very salacious details of my life as one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. When are the people of Sydney going to hear it?’

Tom interjected. ‘That would be this time tomorrow.’

‘Well, I’ll be listening! Actually, that’s a lie, I won’t be listening, I’ll be on stage in Milan. But I’ll be there in spirit!’

I cheered and clapped before wrapping it up. ‘Thanks, Finners. Now go get back to whatever pop-star insanity you’re up to your neck in. Thanks for calling in.’

‘Alex York forever!’ he yelled before hanging up.

I took a deep breath, shook my head in Tom’s direction then pulled my mic closer to me and wrapped things up.

‘Well, Sydney, never a dull moment here on the Alex York Breakfast Show. And while I can’t guarantee surprises like that every morning, it’s a great reminder that anything is possible on live radio!’

The first week was like a fever dream. The shows went by so quickly that I hardly had time to take stock. When I got home every afternoon I fell straight into bed, completely exhausted, often not waking until my alarm rang out the next day at 3:30 am. Billy got into the habit of prepping extravagant takeaway breakfast packs for me, and every day I’d get to work and open my little bento box to find stewed fruits, pancakes, chia seed puddings, homemade granola and corn fritters. Nobody at work could quite fathom the fact that I brought in home-cooked meals for breakfast, let alone the fact that they were prepared for me by my uncle, with whom I was living rent-free.

On the Friday morning, my first official payslip appeared in my inbox and I sat in stunned silence at my desk, staring at the zeros that had been deposited into my bank account. Unsurprisingly, my first instinct was to go out and buy something ridiculous. But a minute or so later I had another thought. Maybe Leo was right. Maybe May and Billy were right. Maybe I should actually … talk to a professional to figure out what to do with my new-found wealth.

Then I thought about my maxed-out credit card and the sheer mortification that would come from someone knowing how much I’d spent.

I decided that there was only one thing for me to do, and that was something I’d never actually done before. I would pay off the entirety of my bill in one go. I would square it off. Get it back to zero. And once that was done, I would see whether the thought of meeting a financial planner still made me want to puke.

I sat at my desk, paralysed for another moment or so, scared to even log in to my banking app. I’d purposely hidden my credit card account from my home screen so that I’d never actually have to come face-to-face with the amount owing. I wondered if I should call Tom over and get him to do it for me. No. I would simply rip it off like a bandaid.

With trembling fingers, I clicked on my credit card account, closing my eyes while the screen loaded, and then ever so slowly opening my right eye to squint at the number in front of me. I felt like one of those kids on TikTok who films themselves opening their college acceptance offer.

And there it was.

Thirty two thousand, six hundred and fifty-two dollars. Almost my entire monthly pay.

My financial recklessness had always been a bit of a joke, but for the first time in my life it felt like the recklessness wasn’t so fun anymore.

I took a deep breath and, in a few short clicks, without thinking, transferred the exact amount back into the account, watching as the total owing updated to zero.

A heaviness I didn’t even know was there immediately lifted from my shoulders.

‘Oh fuck. That actually felt pretty good,’ I said, much louder than I had planned.

It did feel good. It felt really good.

I looked up to see that Mark Holdsworth had appeared beside Leo in the corridor and was whispering something in his ear. Leo was nodding seriously as they disappeared into the conference room. I opened Instagram for a quick scroll and, as if on autopilot, found myself clicking through a sponsored ad and adding a couple of pieces from the new SKIMS collection to my cart. Obviously I deserved a treat after paying off my credit card bill.

‘Alex!’ Tom’s voice boomed across the office. ‘I need you to head home and have a nap. We’re all going out tonight to celebrate our first week.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Literally the whole floor. My social connections know no ends. I also told them the tequila is on you, so …’ He shrugged innocently.

‘Tom, I legit JUST paid my credit card off!’

‘Great, you’ve made space! Off you go! Rest that pretty face up and I’ll swing past yours in an Uber at seven.’

Tom quickly packed my things into my handbag, took me by the arm and dragged me towards the exit. As we passed the conference room, I glanced through the glass at Leo and Mark engaged in a very animated conversation. It almost looked like they were fighting. I craned my neck back as Tom dragged me past, desperate to get a sense of what was going down. Before I knew it, however, I was in the office lift, Tom had pressed the button for Basement 5 and I was on my way down to my car.

‘I’ll call you at six to wake you up, just in case!’ I heard his shrill voice call out after me as the doors closed.