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before I have a chance to give him a pep talk.
    Poor, poor Obélix. What a mess.

Chapter Three
    Utter bliss. Wherever they bought the bed from, wherever they got this linen, they have bought their guests a little slice of heaven. That was, by far, the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time, and I’ve slept so well that I could almost forget that outside of dreamland things aren’t going so well. Almost . I stretch out into a starfish and issue number one hits me: Piers is in the hospital.
    I shoot a look at the clock and see it’s just after 10am, which means it’s three in the afternoon back home. The past forty-eight hours have been crazy.
    Was it just yesterday that I landed in New York, saw Piers at the hospital, found out Ob might be a dad, found out Felicity might have been... I shudder at that grim thought. Oh, not to mention Tabitha deciding I sold her out to the tabloids. She’s the only person I’ve not dealt with, but before I call her I need fortification. And to see Piers. And to find out whether my best friend is going to be a dad. Right, breakfast first.
    I pick up the phone, call room service and ask for the biggest teapot filled with English breakfast tea, plus half the breakfast menu. I only nibbled some Pringles on the plane, so I order oatmeal with strawberries and cream, ricotta pancakes with rhubarb and maple syrup, plus a large serving of bacon. I desperately need bacon right now. It was the first thing I thought of when I woke up.
    I can remember so vividly the first time Piers brought me to New York. He took me to the sweetest little diner – all red vinyl swivel stools and cosy booths – tucked away around the corner from Wall Street. I had the most delicious stack of sweet waffles with oak-smoked bacon, swimming deliciously in a rich maple syrup. I wish Piers and I were heading there for breakfast now instead of me having to order room service and Piers eating whatever constitutes hospital food in this part of the world.
    Reluctantly I get out of bed and stretch, taking in the room with a more awake pair of eyes than I had last night. Yep, still stunning but I need to get moving and head to the hospital.
    I grab the quickest shower and just have time to dress in my dirty clothes – I really regret not packing anything now – when breakfast arrives. As I chomp my way through the most moreish pancakes, I quickly catch up with Mum who tells me that whilst the police are not treating Felicity’s death as suspicious, a post-mortem will be happening. I couldn’t get anything else out of her, except her repeating several times that I need to focus on Piers because I can’t change anything for Felicity.
    It makes no sense though. Surely Felicity’s doctor would have been the person to ask about Felicity’s state of mind, not Etta? Why was she taken to the police station? Why is a post-mortem happening if Felicity died of natural causes? The only thing that makes sense is that Piers needs my full attention.
    Breakfast finished, I leave the hotel after a quick look on my Maps app. Thankfully New York’s grid system makes it easy to navigate, and it looks a pretty straightforward walk to the hospital – I need the air.
    I try calling Tabitha, but she doesn’t pick up, so I call Ob. It goes to voicemail. I fire off a quick text asking how the doctor’s appointment went, but suspect no news is bad news – I’m not sure which outcome would be the worst one for Ob.
    OK, taking in the scenery it is then, though it’s not very inspiring. I’m currently walking down 23rd East Street, a sparse tree-lined road filled with brownstones and tall grey buildings. Looking up I spy make-shift washing lines and a few people staring out of their windows; at street level, there are cheap-looking diners, hair salons and, of course, the ubiquitous Starbucks trying to lure people in to spend their dollars.
    It’s a stark difference to what I’d be seeing if I’d set off in the opposite direction