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to be ex-husband slept, unaware that his wife was praying to God for a divorce so she could embark on a mystical quest of self-exploration. I put the book down and exited the restaurant through the revolving doors.
    I was wearing the pussy bow and pencil skirt that I had bought with Freddie’s money. I stood in front of the paps and posed. I waited for their bulbs to start popping – would they pop? – but there was nothing.
    William came outside. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted.
    â€˜You said when I started here that it would be a good opportunity to network.’
    He hauled me back inside.
    He threw me in the cloakroom and shut the door.
    Now I was alone.
    I waited.
    There was a knock on the door. I opened it.
    An old man who looked like a toad was standing in reception. He was wearing a cravat. He handed me his cane and camel-hair coat.
    â€˜Reservation for Douglas at nine,’ he said.
    â€˜Certainly, sir.’
    The old man was looking at me with shameless hunger. I led him to table twenty-two in the far corner of the restaurant – set for one – and wished him a pleasant evening.
    â€˜I hope it will be pleasant,’ he said.
    I saw a violently pink tongue dart over thin lips. He ordered the house apricot bellini.
    The pop star was crying on table twenty.
    I checked my phone. There was a text!
    Please call. Love Mum X.
    â€˜Fuck.’ I threw the phone at the vase of orchids, but it landed on the leather banquette, and bounced.
    A man walked in and shouted: ‘Taxi!’
    All the lights in the restaurant went out.
    The taxi driver and I looked at each other in the darkness.
    One scented candle flickered.
    â€˜Vic?’ I said.
    There was silence.
    Soon the guests started murmuring, and then screaming their complaints. William ordered waiters to get more candles, apologising, but then he got angry and threw at least three tables out.
    â€˜It is my lot in life to search for black umbrellas in the dark,’ I told the taxi driver.
    â€˜Taxi?’ he said again.
    â€˜Oh my God!’ I said. ‘Vic had a poster of Taxi Driver on his wall. I left his room only this morning. This must be a sign.’ I hugged Eat, Pray, Love , then waved it at the taxi driver but he ignored me and banged out of the restaurant.
    Madeline appeared and told me that she didn’t know why the crying pop star had a reputation in the press for being a sweet girl-next-door because she was a fucking diva and didn’t even say thank you for the complimentary amuse-bouches that William had sent over.
    The lights came back on.
    Freddie and Jasper turned up at the restaurant at ten to ten, fucked. Samuel lagged behind. He was wearing a onesie with the words Please Snort Me emblazoned across it. The letters looked appliquéd on. He wasn’t wearing a coat and his thin, ginger arms were trembling. Freddie and Jasper were bundled up.
    â€˜Go away,’ I told them. ‘I’m busy.’
    â€˜No,’ said Jasper. His hair was slicked back Lost Generation style and he wore a white silk scarf around his throat, which added to the impression that he was Count Dracula, come to drink my blood. ‘We want a table for two.’
    â€˜Three,’ said Samuel, glumly. ‘Freddie, I really don’t have any money.’
    â€˜Nonsense,’ said Freddie. ‘We don’t need money.’
    â€˜You do,’ I said.
    Jasper glided into the dining room. He pounced on table fourteen, which had yet to be reset. The tablecloth was a mess of rabbit juice and breadcrumbs.
    They sat down.
    I was returning to reception, when the toad gentleman on table twenty-two said: ‘Miss. Miss. If you please.’
    I went over and smiled my door bitch smile, explaining that only the waiters took orders, but he shook his head. He was looking very intently into my eyes. He held aloft a white wire which trailed somewhere under the table. I saw that he’d