But then she thought about Emilia’s baby, scrabbling for her bottle of milk on the ground. She would grow up without a dad, and nobody deserved that. She thought about her own dad and how much she wanted him to be around when she was a teenager arguing with Mum.

Her feet thumped across the grass, she was a few seconds up on her PB, she could break twenty-two minutes for the first time. She had her phone out, checking how much she had to go, three hundred metres, two hundred, she passed another man in his thirties, thickening around the middle, now one hundred metres, she sucked in air and threw her legs forwards, imagined a finishing tape, then the automated voice told her she’d reached five kilometres and she pressed pause and her legs staggered to a stop and she almost fell over, stumbling until she slammed a hand against an oak tree and bent over, chest heaving, the voice telling her she’d done it in twenty-one minutes and fifty-seven 238seconds as black spots sparkled in her vision and she leaned against the tree and wished Mel and Peter were still alive, Grandpa too.

She straightened up and walked down Middle Meadow Walk to the flat, cyclists zipping past, more runners, an old punk drinking from a beer can, two girls in Capri trousers and pastel jumpers laughing loudly about a boy.

She was at the lights on Melville Terrace, waiting to cross.

‘Hey.’

She turned and there was her dad.

‘Hey.’

‘I was just coming to see you.’ He held a small bouquet of white roses. ‘I saw on the news about your friend.’

Hannah took the flowers and gave him a hug. She realised she was sweaty and smelly but didn’t care. She began crying into his chest and felt his hand on her back. She pulled herself into the embrace, hoping to burrow into the dark forever. She was aware of people passing by, probably wondering why she was crying in this man’s arms. Her breath synchronised with Craig’s, their chests moving as if their hearts were connected.

Eventually she pulled away and wiped her eyes. Craig pushed strands of hair away from her cheek.

‘Come on up,’ Hannah said, smelling the roses. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

She led him up the stairs into the flat, Indy at the breakfast bar on her laptop.

‘Hey,’ she said to Hannah, taking in Craig behind. She’d always got on with him, something Hannah was grateful for.

‘Dad gave me these,’ Hannah said, pulling out a pint glass and arranging the flowers in it.

‘I’m sorry to hear about Melanie,’ Craig said.

Hannah put the kettle on, kissed Indy in passing, saw the website on her laptop.

‘Any news?’ she said.239

Indy shook her head. ‘Just what we heard last night. Anything from Thomas?’

‘I’ve tried a few times, left messages.’

‘Who’s Thomas?’ Craig said.