He looked at her, watching the shape of the words tumbling from her lips with an intensity that made her look away, but then his grip tightened and he nodded, considering something she couldn’t fathom.

‘It’s complicated,’ she repeated, because there was nothing else to say, and he watched her, a look of acceptance finally spreading across his features.

‘OK,’ he said at last.

‘Thank you for a beautiful weekend,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go now.’

But even as she pulled away from him, there was a look in his eye that told her he knew she couldn’t stay away.

Chapter 35

Isobel

The women’s refuge stands on a cobbled side street off Kentish Town High Street. Trying the front door and finding it locked, I move around to the back, stretching up on my tiptoes to peer over the wall.

‘Maureen?’ I see her head sticking out from behind a shrub, a pair of secateurs in hand. As she stands in response to her name, she puts a hand up to her chest.

‘Isobel, bloody hell, are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

I smile back at her. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to have a quick word about something. Can I come in?’

‘Go around the front, I’ll be there in two minutes.’

‘Cup of tea?’ she asks as we pad through the waiting room, which is stuffed with a couple of desks and filing cabinets; piles of leaflets are stacked on surfaces and there are posters on the wall, advertising helplines and health services. A couple of children play with toys on a small mat in the corner of the room while their mothers talk with one of Maureen’s colleagues.

Inside the office is dark and cool. Maureen places an affectionate hand on my wrist.

‘How are you, love? It’s been a while.’

‘I’ve been trying to call,’ I say, taking a sip of my tea.

‘Phone’s buggered. Sorry, I should have let you know.’

I can’t help but think that Maureen sees me as another one of her cases. The thought of it makes me uneasy, but then if it helps me procure the information I need, perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing.

‘I need to ask you something,’ I say, avoiding eye contact at first, but then settling into it so that by the time half an hour has passed, I’ve offloaded not just about the incident on the Heath, but about the shoes, the phone calls, about the disbelief of the police. By the time I’ve finished, I feel a stone lighter.

‘Don’t get me started on the police,’ Maureen shrugs. ‘You know what that lot are like. You’re guilty until proven innocent – and that’s just the victims.’

She pauses to refill my cup.