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Michael, but he was a lousy husband. She said it aloud. ‘Michael, you’re a lousy husband.’ That made her feel a little better. Once upon a time, they had been close, a great unit, a unit that had been fantastic for both of them. She had given him the stability he needed and she had been a damn good mother. ‘I’m a damn good mother,’ she announced to the TV. But this, this place had taken over. Michael had effectively divorced her and married the Neptune Hotel. ‘Well, I hope it gives a good blow job,’ she blurted into the glass and laughed loudly.
    And then there was Johnny. Oh shit, Johnny. Why? Why had she done that? She suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of sadness hit her. She swallowed hard and gazed around the room. Her focus wasn’t too good suddenly. A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away with an angry swipe of her palm, smudging her makeup.
    She refilled her glass.
    All this was becoming so familiar. She drank to forget and then she had to put on a big act to make her kids believe she was sober. But sometimes, sometimes, she just wished she could really let go. ‘But what would I do?’ she asked the TV. ‘Run away?’ She started to giggle. ‘Oh, yeah!’
    She went to refill her glass and realised the bottle was empty. Flinging it to one side of the sofa, she stood up. Reaching for another bottle on the cabinet, she slipped on a slice of lemon, started to crash forward into the array of bottles and just caught herself in time. At that moment, the door opened and Michael Xavier walked in.
    â€˜What’re you doing?’
    â€˜What does it look like, Michael?’
    Xavier sighed heavily and walked over to his wife. He went to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. He took a step back, looked at the floor and said, ‘Did you have to? Tonight?’
    â€˜Tonight? Oh yes, it’s your night of triumph, isn’t it, my darling?’
    Michael Xavier gave her an exasperated look that made her feel like a 10-year-old schoolgirl. It infuriated her. To cover her anger, she laughed, lost her balance again and gripped the edge of the cabinet to steady herself.
    â€˜For God’s sake, Hilary. What about the...?’
    She glared at him. ‘Don’t dare say: “What about the kids?” You wouldn’t be that big a hypocrite.’
    He gave Hilary another pitying glance, and the dam burst. She stepped towards her husband and went to slap him across the face. Catching her hand before it made contact, Michael tried to guide her to the sofa, but she pulled away, seething, her eyes aflame. ‘Don’t!’ she screamed. ‘We don’t need you here, Michael. Go off to help the crews, help the staff, do something, anything, except be with us. The kids hardly know you anyway.’
    Michael stared at her, expressionless. ‘This isn’t the time...’
    â€˜No, no, of course it isn’t, dear. Never is the time, is it?’
    â€˜Hilary, please.’
    â€˜Please? Please? You don’t need to say please. Michael dear, you do what you want. You always do. You don’t need me. You don’t need us.’ And she waved her hand towards the next room.
    Michael Xavier exhaled again. He felt exhausted. He knew he had been ignoring his family. Especially Hilary. He knew he had gone too far – knew their 11-year marriage was over. There had been no conscious decision to sacrifice it. Perhaps some subconscious impulse had driven him to choose the Neptune over her. But he never really had a choice. The two, the hotel and Hilary, had been mutually incompatible. Always would be. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, quietly.
    Hilary turned away and refilled her glass.

14
The Neptune Hotel, Room 320
    Johnny Xavier opened the file on his computer. In it were half a dozen emails from the past three months, all but one saying basically the same thing: ‘Stop construction.’ The last one, sent a