The following day, Alexander took his time getting ready. He awoke at seven, got out of bed to urinate and on the way back to bed collected his breakfast, which was waiting for him on a tray outside his door. He ate his toast and marmalade, feeling very British as he did so. He poured some tea and wondered why he’d ordered it. Dirty water is what it tasted like. Why hadn’t he ticked coffee? The eggs and sausages were perfect. When he’d eaten his fill, he pushed the tray away and lay back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to meander through the endless expanse of his mind.
At around nine he finally got out of bed and threw the curtains open to a grey, rainy day. After showering and dressing, Alexander packed his suitcase ready for the plane to Sydney, leaving
