“Get in.”

He didn’t look at her once they were in the car. It was as untidy as it had been the last time, a crumpled-up McDonald’s wrapper in the footwell.

“I’ll drive you back to your mum’s,” he said, his voice terse. “You really shouldn’t have come here today.”

“No, listen, I don’t want to go there. Can we go somewhere else?” Heather rubbed her hands over her face. “You don’t owe me anything at this point, obviously, but I really can’t face that place at the moment. Is there somewhere else we can go?”

For a long time he didn’t say anything at all, but as they drove Heather gradually realized that they weren’t driving toward Balesford. Instead they were heading east, toward Hoxton way, and she bit down several caustic comments about hipsters and man buns. Eventually, they drew up outside a smart block of new build flats, a few doors down from a 24-hour bagel shop. Ben took his hands off the wheel, and spoke, still not looking at her.

“This is my place. If you want, you can come in for ten minutes, say whatever it is you need to say. You can have a cup of tea, or coffee, if I have any. And then I’ll drive you back, and that has to be the end of it. Okay?”

“It’s more than I deserve.” She smiled at him hesitantly, but he didn’t return it.

Inside, the flat was tiny and about as untidy as his car, but in Heather’s eyes it was the good kind of untidy: books strewn all over the place, papers stacked randomly on corners, empty coffee cups left abandoned like beacons on every surface. The living room shared space with an open kitchen, and there were lots of interesting food gadgets crammed on the sideboard—this was a man who enjoyed cooking. Heather felt another pang of regret. I’ve really fucked up here. He’s perfect.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

He shrugged off his coat and chucked it on the sofa. Heather didn’t bother taking hers off. After a couple of minutes, he handed her a steaming mug of tea, which she curled her fingers around gratefully.

“So. Right.” She sipped at the tea even though it was too hot. Parker leaned against the kitchen top, his own tea untouched. “You know this wasn’t some big scheme, okay? Yes, I did go to my old editor and tell her that I might have a story she would be interested in, but I told her I wanted full control over it, that I wanted to write it once this bastard was caught. I’d never have willingly put the investigation back in any way. Diane fucked me over, printed what I’d told her without my permission. And what happened the other night …”

“I asked you what you did for a living,” said Parker, evenly. “And you told me you were a writer.”

“Which isn’t untrue.”

He half laughed and shook his head, but there was no humor in it at all. Heather felt her heart sink.