Ten minutes later the detective who was supposed to be dealing with us came in with a computer printout. "Hello. I'm DI Kirby," he said, without looking at us.

He stared at the printout for a while, then up at me, raising his eyebrows.

"This is the Thailand file, I take it?" said Mark, looking over his shoulder, "Oh I see ... that incident in ..."

"Well, yes," said the detective.

"No, no, that was just a piece of fillet steak," said Mark. The policeman was looking at Mark oddly.

"It was left in a shopping bag by my mother," I explained, "and was starting to decay."

"You see? There? And this is the Thai report," Mark said, leaning over the form.

The detective put his arm around the form protectively, as if Mark were trying to copy his homework. Just then the phone rang. DI Kirby picked it up.

"Yes. I want to be in a squad car on Kensington High Street, Well, somewhere near the Albert Hall! When the cortege sets off. I want to pay my last respects," he said in an exasperated voice. "What's DI fucking Rogers doing there? OK, well, Buckingham Palace, then. What?"

"What did the report say about Jed?" I whispered. "'Jed' he said his name was, did he?" scoffed Mark. "Roger Dwight, actually."

"OK then, Hyde Park Corner. But I want it at the front of the crowd. Sorry about that," said DI Kirby, putting the phone down, and assuming the sort of overcompen satory efficient air I identified totally with from when I am late for work. "Roger Dwight," the detective said. "It's kind of pointing that way, isn't it?"

"I'd be very surprised if he's managed to organize anything himself," said Mark. "Not from Arabian custody." "Well, there are ways and means."

Was absolutely infuriating the way Mark was talking to the policeman over my head. Almost as if I were some kind of bimbo or half-wit.

"Excuse me," I said bristling. "Could I possibly participate in this conversation?"

"Of course," said Mark, "as long as you don't bring up any bottoms or frying pans."

Saw the detective looking from one to the other of us with a puzzled air. "He could, I guess, have organized someone else to send it," said Mark, turning to the detective, "but it seems somewhat unlikely, foolhardy even, given ..."

"Well, yes, in cases of this kind. Excuse me." DI Kirby picked up the phone. "Right. Well, tell Harrow Road they've already got two cars on the route!" he said petulantly. "No. I want to see the coffin before the service. Yes. Well, tell DI Rimmington to eff off. Sorry, sir." He put the phone down again and smiled masterfully.

"In cases of this kind ... ?" I said.

"Yes, it's unlikely that a person with serious intentions would advertise his . . ."

"You mean they'd just shoot her, right?" said Mark. Oh God.

An hour later the package had gone off to be fingerprinted and DNA'd and I was still being questioned.

"Is there anyone outside from the Thai connection who has a grudge against you, young lady?" said DI Kirby. "An ex-lover perhaps, a rejected suitor?"

Was delighted by being called 'young lady'. You see may not be in first flush of youth but ...

"Bridget" said Mark. "Pay attention! is there anyone who might want to hurt you?"

"There are lots of people who have hurt me," I said, looking at Mark and racking my brains. "Richard Finch. Daniel - but I don't think either of them would do this," I said uncertainly.

Did Daniel think I'd been talking about that night we were supposed to have dinner? Was he so annoyed about being rejected? Surely that would be a bit of an overreaction? But then maybe Sharon was right about fin-de-millennium males losing their roles.

"Bridget?" said Mark, gently. "Whatever you're thinking, I think you should tell DI Kirby."

Was so embarrassing. Ended up going into whole Daniel lingerie and jacket evening while DI Kirby took down details with a poker face. Mark didn't say anything when I was talking but he looked really angry. Noticed the detective kept looking hard at him.

"Have you been involved with any low-life characters at all?" said DI Kirby.

The only person I could think of was Uncle Geoffrey's possible rent boy, but that was ridiculous because the rent boy didn't know me from Adam.

"You're going to have to move out of your flat. Is there anywhere you can go?"

"You can stay with me," Mark said suddenly. My heart leapt. "In one of the spare rooms," he added quickly. "Could you give me a moment, sir," said the Detective Inspector. Mark looked dropped on, then said, "Of course," and abruptly left the room.

"I'm not sure staying with Mr Darcy would be wise, miss," said the detective, glancing at the door.

"Yeah, you might be right," I said, thinking he was taking a fatherly interest and suggesting, as a man, that I should keep the air of mystery and unavailability and let Mark be the pursuer, but then I remembered was not supposed to be thinking like that any more.

"What exactly is your past relationship with Mr Darcy?"

"Well!" I said and started the story.

DI Kirby seemed oddly suspicious about the whole thing. The door opened again at the moment he was saying, "So Mr Darcy just happened to be in the coffee bar, did he? On the morning you got the bullet?"

Mark came and stood in front of us.

"OK," he said wearily, looking at me as if to say, 'You are the source of all that is opposite to serene.' "Print me, DNA me, let's get this out of the way."

"Oh, I'm not saying it was you, sir," said the detective hurriedly. "It's just we have to eliminate the . . ."

"All right, all right," said Mark. "Let's go get on with it."

Friday 5 September, still 8st 8, no. seconds since had sex: no longer care, no. of minutes stayed alive since death threat 34,800 (v.g.).

6 p.m. Shazzer's flat. Looking out of window. It can't be Mark Darcy. That's ridiculous. It can't be. It must be something to do with Jed. I mean, he's probably got a whole ring of contacts here, desperate for drugs whom I have deprived of their livelihood. Or Daniel? But surely he wouldn't do something like that. Maybe it's just some nut. But a nut who knows my name and address? Someone wants to kill me. Someone has bothered to get a live bullet and engrave my name on it.

Must keep calm. Calm, calm. Yes. Must keep head when all around you ... Wonder if they have bulletproof vests in Kookaп?

Wish Shaz would come back. Am all disorientated. Shazzer's flat is tiny, and messy at the best of times, especially as all open-plan, but with two of them here the floor and every surface seems completely covered with Agent Provocateur bras, leopardskin ankle boots, Gucci carrier bags, faux Prada handbags, tiny Voyage cardigans and odd strappy shoes. V. confused. Maybe will find space somewhere and lie down.

After they took Mark away DI Kirby repeated that I mustn't stay in my flat and took me back there to collect some things, but trouble was did not have anywhere to stay. Mum and Dad were still in rehab. Tom's flat would have been ideal but couldn't find his San Francisco number anywhere. Tried both Jude and Shaz at work but they were both out at lunch.

Was awful really. Was leaving messages everywhere while the police stamped around getting things to fingerprint and looking for clues.

"What's this hole doing in the wall, miss?" said one of the policemen, as they wandered around, dusting things.

"Oh, it, um, got left," I said vaguely. Just then the phone rang. Was Shaz who said I could stay and told me where spare key was hidden.

Think will have little sleep.

11.45 p.m. Wish did not keep waking up in night, though is v. comforting having Jude and Shaz asleep in the room too like babies. Was v. nice when they came home from work. Had pizzas and I went to sleep really early. No word from or about Mark Darcy. At least have got panic button. Is nice. Is remote-control operated by a little suitcase. Just think if I press it lithe young policemen will come round in uniform to save me!!! Mmm. Delicious thought ... v. sleepy ...