The diamond-shaped leading in the windows cast distorted patterns on the floorboards. I shut my eyes again. I felt as if I had been hit over the head with a hammer, made to run a marathon, then put forward for eyelid testing, which involved my eyelids being puffed-up with a syringe to nine times their normal size and weight. It was a hangover, of course, but often you can drink all night and wake up feeling relatively fresh because you have had a hilarious, raucous evening. I reopened one eyelid. The sun patterns on the floor were dancing. I groaned. I opened both eyes carefully, and rolled my gaze out across the floor. There were some brown kitten heels, lying askew under the chair. Suddenly, like Bobbie’s daddy appearing through the swirling mist at the end of The Railway Children, a picture of the previous day emerged. The shoe strap that hurt on the way back from Chin’s wedding. The house – saved. My speech. Rosalie’s rose-pink taffeta outfit. Miles – God, Miles: I wasn’t going out with him any more.
