Having left the flat that morning feeling nauseous, I returned to it with a headache. If Tom and I went as usual to the Beckford Arms I would have to avoid drinking more alcohol. In the hope of mitigating the effects of the beer I made myself two thick slices of toast, liberally spread them with jam and washed this inadequate meal down with instant coffee.
A shower made me feel much better, and refreshed I noticed for the first time that there were two messages on the answering machine. Both were from Tom, the first asking me to call him back, the second saying: 'Hello Mark, been trying to reach you. Expect you've been out wining and dining in expensive restaurants all day as usual. I've got bad news: Andrew's been taken ill, he's had a blackout. It's quite serious, they've taken him into hospital. I went in to see him but they only let me stay a few minutes. About to get myself something to eat. See you in the Beckford Arms later. Bye.'