Instead, I step out of the train station onto the high street at Kentish Town. Rather than catching the connecting tube to Camden Town, I stop at the newsagent’s, picking up a half-bottle of whisky to calm my nerves and a box of cigarettes. Making the twenty-minute journey back to the flat by foot, the cold snaps at my heels.

It is not until I am outside the door that I remember the state in which I’ve left the flat. With everything that has happened since the break-in, I’d almost forgotten. Now, the memory of it makes me shiver.

As I place my hand on the front door, I see that in my absence the landlord has heeded my request and had the pane of glass replaced.

There is a sense of relief but still I am cautious as I fiddle with the key before walking upstairs in the dark, my fingers tracing the line of the wall.

Half-expecting to see a window flapping open or some other trace of a second intrusion, I see the room is just as I left it: papers strewn across the floor, my laptop open in the middle of my bed. Pouring a large glass of whisky, I reach for the freezer door, realising I am famished.

Inside there is little more than a half-empty tray of ice cubes, a packet of congealed peas and a loaf of bread.

From the back of one of the cupboards I pull out a tin of beans and heat those along with two slices of bread. All the while, I manage to keep my mind on the task at hand, not allowing it to wander to what I have to do next.

It is what I’ve been waiting for: a real lead, something that might actually tell me what I’ve been so desperate to know – and yet now I feel a hesitation deep within myself.

Once I’ve eaten, I wash my face in the bathroom; the packet of fluoxetine stares back at me from the counter. How long has it been since I last took one? Popping out two, and then a third, to be safe, I swallow them down with a mouthful of water straight from the tap.

Back in the bedroom I top up my glass and retrieve the new packet of cigarettes from my bag.

Reaching for an ashtray, I pull out my phone for the first time since I left Elephant and Castle, and see the answerphone symbol flashing on the screen.

The voice informs me I have two new messages.

‘Hey, it’s Si. I was just wondering how you were doing …’

Si sounds drunk; something about his voice makes me cringe and smile at the same time.

‘So, anyway, maybe see you at work or … Yeah, OK then, see you, bye.’

I listen to him fumble with the phone, cursing under his breath before the line falls dead.