Chapter EightA new day struggles to dawn through the hazy fugue that inevitably follows a night spent celebrating life. Felix imagines himself sitting statue-like at his office desk while Friday speeds around him. Maggie’s crimson nails turn her hands into blurs of bloodied fists at her keyboard. When she flits back and forth between her files and the photocopier, she becomes a vague, ghostly shape. The antique machine flickers with near constant use like a strobe light in the corner of the room.
Outside, London Road is much the same. Bodies whir past the window, pulled by an invisible current, except for one figure, stationary outside the office window. Rain reduces the onlooker to a streaky silhouette. Felix’s first thought is that it is Michael, recognisable by his lean shape and long
