Matilda saw, out of her peripheral vision, an exceptionally dressed man walking in their general direction, glasses of water in hand. Was he coming towards them? She pleaded with the forces of the universe, whatever amount of them was left, that he was not walking towards them. Talking with just one person was taking everything she had; she couldn’t manage a conversation with two. She just couldn’t. She watched him, a doe tracking a wolf, and then looked away from the awful truth.

He was walking toward them. Walking towards her. Oh hell, oh sh**, oh f***. She glanced at him, and wished she hadn’t.

He was a few inches taller than her, and cut a dashing figure in his suit. Clearly he at least had woken with enough time to get dressed. She felt haggard, standing next to him. He seemed nice, and terminally charming. She could hardly look at him without feeling like she was going to shrivel.

He offered them water. She stuck out a hand, stiff like a pole, and grabbed hold of the glass of water more by luck than anything. It was cold and sweating, like her. She hadn’t put anti-perspirant on that morning. Was she sweating through her shirt? Oh god help her, she must look awful. Everyone had to be looking at her. Judging her. She didn’t want to panic. Was she going to panic? Oh god, thinking about it was making her panic. Her stomach bucked like a fish. She was going to throw up.

She shifted her focus back to Kendall, and she was filled with a heady warmth, like she’d been stuck with an IV of something potent and wonderful. She’d never drunken anything other than water in adult life, but she suddenly understood the phrase ‘liquid courage’. Again a small voice cautioned her not to think too much about it, even though the sensation was out of place, unnatural, and felt a bit like cheating. It wasn’t enough that she felt like she could take on the world, or run up to Arven himself and shake his hand. But she did feel like she’d be able to carry on some semblance of a conversation with these two men without utterly dissolving.

She realized that, while she’d been lost in thought, the new man had said something to her. She worked backwards to try and figure out what it was.

“Matilda. I am. Me. I mean. I’m Matilda Plum. Thank you for the water.” She drank from the cup. It tasted off to her; a bit too clean, and nothing like the taps in London.