LOUISA ORCHARD CRAWLED from her bed with great reluctance ten minutes after her hand banged down on her alarm clock, silencing its hated, horrifically loud, beeping. It was the same every morning, her alarm went off, she woke with a groan and groped for the clock, so she could turn it off, and then she pulled her duvet tight around her while she tried to pretend the world didn’t exist.
With an enormous effort, she threw back the duvet and got to her feet to head along the passage to the bathroom. Once she was done there, she made for the kitchen to put the kettle on and drop some bread into the toaster.
While she waited for her breakfast to be ready, she turned on the radio in the living room. Ally Grantham, the morning DJ, was just announcing that there was six minutes until the seven-a
