Leaning in further so that her mouth was pressed against her daughter’s ear, she added so quietly that only Sadie could hear, ‘Mummy has to go now, I have to be back at work this evening, but you have a wonderful time with Granny and Grandad and I’ll see you soon, OK? I love you, so much.’

Not allowing herself to be dissuaded by the expression on Sadie’s face as she turned away from her, Gabriela moved back through the crowd of parents, her feet clattering down the stairs until she was outside again. Buzzing herself through the school gates, the first parent to leave after the concert, she ran as if the devil was chasing her, and she was still running when she reached the tube station.

It was only then that she realised she had no idea where she was going. Where did Ivan even live? Richmond, that was as much as she knew. After all these months, she had never been to his house. And he had barely so much as asked where hers was, giving in so easily to her deceit.

Her fingers shaking, she pulled out her phone and dialled his number.

‘It’s me,’ she said when he answered. ‘Can I come over?’

Chapter 42

Isobel

The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins when I arrive back at the flat.

Taking a seat at the table, my fingers clutch the two white envelopes, the same name staring back at me from the front of each: ‘Goran Petrović’.

My mind scanning the possibilities, I pull open the first letter slowly. It is a generic note from the council, informing the occupier of a rise in business rates, which tells me nothing except that whatever this establishment is, officially and unofficially, it is registered as a business. There had been no company name on the front of the building, which would have enabled me to find a list of accounts and directorships via one of the websites we use at work.

My hands tremble slightly as I slide my fingers under the sealed flap of the second letter, which is stamped, more promisingly, with an EE logo in the corner.

Taking a shallow breath, I pull out a thick, folded wad of pages listing endless numbers. Scanning them, I feel my brain hum with possibility. Closing my eyes for a moment, catching my breath, I go through the pages again, more carefully this time, looking out for anything unusual or telling – a prefix I recognise, perhaps, or a foreign dialling code; anything to give me a clue, no matter how small.

Yet no matter how hard I look, I see nothing that points to an immediate clue. Just mobile number after mobile number, few of the calls lasting more than a minute.

The sense of anticlimax is almost painful.