It had felt like such a clear step forward when I was handed the post and yet now, short of ringing one of the numbers, I am no closer than I had been yesterday.

My brain is cloudy with exhaustion. Sighing, I let my face fall into my palms. The moment I close my eyes I see the girl blinking back at me, a look of terror transferring from her face to mine, and I sit bolt upright again, shaking my head to clear the image.

Pouring another cup of coffee, ignoring the voicemail from Ben flashing on the screen of my phone, which I’ve set to silent, I sit back in front of my computer and google the name Goran Petrović followed by the address of the building I’ve just visited.

The internet connection in the flat is deathly slow, and by the time I discover the building is registered to a company called PKI Ltd, I have six missed calls from Ben.

My mind fizzing with excitement at this significant progress, I stand and gather my papers, arriving at the office less than ten minutes later. From the moment I step through the door, the plastic champagne flutes on the desks containing the dregs of warm wine and the empty Sainsbury’s sandwich wrappers crumpled across desks alert me to my mistake.

‘Shit, Si, happy birthday,’ I say awkwardly, feeling my colleagues’ eyes on us as I move forward to give him a peck on the cheek before deciding that feels wrong and somehow opting instead for a weird jovial arm-slap, the kind American men might give each other at a barbecue.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Ben asks, dropping a load of papers onto his desk.

‘Somers Town,’ I lie. ‘Had a couple of people to interview. Anyway, I’m here now, aren’t I?’

Chapter 43

Gabriela

By the time she arrived at Ivan’s house, she had four missed calls from Tom.

Drained of all adrenaline, but knowing he would not stop until she gave him some reason for her disappearance after the concert – an answer beyond the one he must have already partially surmised – she texted him back, I’m working tonight. We’ll speak when you’re back from Edinburgh, before turning off her phone.

Ivan was waiting at the front door when she stepped out of the taxi. Dressed as if he had just returned from the office, there was something so incongruous about seeing him there, under the portico at the end of the garden path, lined with perfectly manicured plants and poplar hedges sculpted into a series of shapes, that she was momentarily thrown.

‘I’m so happy you came,’ he said as he wrapped his arms around her, saying nothing about the absence of any luggage.

Before she could change her mind, she said it: ‘I’m pregnant.’