And maybe the biggest piece of avoidance now was Peter. It was her fault no matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t. He might have been fucking Mel but he wasn’t the father, and Hannah had exposed him to his wife. OK, the guilt was his, but Hannah drove him to a situation where he couldn’t see a way out, and that was just awful.

So there was guilt, grief and loss, what a pile of shit.

She wondered how Dorothy coped with this stuff every day. It was other people’s grief, but how the hell do you not take it on without becoming a heartless bitch?

She opened the bin bag and emptied the clothes onto the bed. She lifted a T-shirt, a vintage skinny-fit with Hong Kong Phooey on it, a cartoon character from the 1980s that looked like a terrible piece of cultural appropriation. Hannah had been with Mel when she bought it in Armstrong’s. Mel loved it because of the cultural thing and her parents were annoyed by it. So maybe Mel always had a mischievous side. It was easy to think of her as the good girl, but none of us are defined so easily, we all play different roles within different groups of people. That’s what helps us connect.

Hannah lifted the T-shirt and inhaled a mix of Mel’s perfume, maybe some sweat, that second-hand fustiness underneath. She lifted each piece of clothing in turn and smelled them, feeling queasy. Finally she got to the jacket, a sporty waterproof material, again retro like something worn by a B-girl breakdancer in Harlem at the birth of hip-hop. Hannah checked the pockets, empty, then as she threw it back on the bed she noticed a zipped pocket on the inside. She tugged at the zip, a little stiff, held the material around the zip for purchase, and opened it. She slid two fingers in and felt a piece of paper. She pulled it out, a receipt for two drinks, a dirty martini and a bottle of Birra Moretti. It was from the bar of Malmaison, a boutique hotel at Leith waterfront.

She turned the receipt over in her hands. The date was two weeks ago. Mel surely knew she was pregnant then but maybe one dirty martini didn’t make any difference.284

She picked up her phone and called.

Eventually Xander picked up. ‘What?’

Hannah stood up. ‘Did you ever go to Malmaison with Mel?’

‘What?’

‘It’s a simple question, did you ever drink with her there?’

‘At their prices? I don’t think so.’

‘You’re sure.’

‘Do you have something?’

‘I have to go.’

She hung up and called again.

‘Hello, Hannah.’ Thomas’s voice, always calm.

‘Mel was drinking in Malmaison with someone two weeks ago and it wasn’t Xander.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I have a receipt, found it in her jacket that was at Xander’s flat.’