That anger wasn’t sustainable. It ate away at her for the first few years, though she didn’t want Craig or Hannah to see it, because then the victory was his. But that was the language of a war again. She wondered how she would feel if she was watching a middle-aged, married woman flirting with the young barman with the muscles. She would cheer her on, waving pom-poms from her cubbyhole.

Maybe it was just her age. Hannah’s generation were so much more sorted about gender, misogyny, patriarchy and the rest. 113Jenny always thought of herself as a feminist but maybe that was a lie, because she didn’t call out the daily bullshit of catcalling, stalkerish behaviour, aggressive flirtation. She used to get groped at grunge gigs and just accepted it as part of the experience. There was that guy Dale who she slept with then dumped, and he stood across the street every night for a month, staring at her bedroom window for hours. Hannah’s generation was flagging this shit up, and that seemed to percolate through society.

At least Hannah would never be cheated on by a boyfriend or husband, but was it any better if she was betrayed by a girlfriend? What if Indy slept around behind her back, or if Hannah did it to Indy? Relationships were a mess, Jenny knew that well enough.

Liam began talking to the barmaid again. It looked like she was flirting with him, but her job was to keep drunk people sweet. Jenny thought about Craig, wondered how he was able to fuck Fiona at the office or in a hotel when he had a wife and daughter at home. But we all compartmentalise, we make excuses to ourselves, justify decisions, ignore the awful things we do because the alternative is to accept that we’re bastards.

Christ, this case wasn’t doing her head any good.

Her phone rang, and she panicked and pressed answer, worried the noise would make Liam turn round.

‘Hi, Jen.’

Craig. A message from the universe.

‘Craig.’ She kept her voice down, hand over her mouth. There was enough noise in the place to cover her, but it felt weird. ‘What do you want?’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine.’

‘I’m not interrupting anything?’

She looked at Liam, nearing the end of his pint. He hadn’t ordered another one yet, was still talking to the barmaid, who was playing with her ponytail.

‘Not really, what do you want?’114

‘Just phoning for a chat.’

‘Come on.’

A pause on the other end. ‘OK, I had lunch with Hannah yesterday.’

‘I know. And?’

‘She said you’re looking into her flatmate going missing, as an investigator.’

Liam had almost finished his pint now. The barmaid was serving someone a complicated cocktail, and he flicked through the back pages of a tabloid. Just a guy in the pub doing guy stuff.

‘Yes,’ Jenny said.

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’