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And now I had an idea for the Captain Scarlett script that’d stumped me for months, a genuinely good idea, the first good idea, in fact, in God knew how long. I jumped up, jotted down an enthusiastic page of notes, then climbed back into bed and turned off the light.

I lay there for a while, listening to the distant traffic and the hum of the city.

‘Why knocks an angel in Bethlehem?’

What does that even mean? I thought. Why knocks an angel? It’s nonsense. It’s nonsense and that’s probably because it isn’t what the voice was even saying.

Alone in the dark, I shuffled across to Imogen’s side of the bed.

Don’t worry about it. Just let it go. Tomorrow’s another day.

Imogen’s pillow felt icy cold and had stopped smelling of her a long time ago, but I pressed my face against it anyway, eyes shut tight, waiting for unconsciousness to rise up like dark water.

5

Imogen in Green

Ten hours later, on the morning of the following day, I was one of 927 people watching my wife sleep.

If that seems like a very specific number to be quoting, it’s because the website had a viewer counter under every camera window, so I could always see just how many people had clicked through. If the number was a big one – and 900-plus was pretty big – I’d make a note on a Post-it.