The next morning it is like waking up in a different flat, every surface clear and scrubbed within an inch of its life. Once I’ve brushed my teeth, I ring Ben. Though he does not explicitly say so, I infer from his unnaturally convivial tone when I ask for some time off that he is relieved. I am a live wire and he is glad to be rid of me for a few days.

‘Si will keep an eye on any developments on the Heath murder, you have a rest.’

Si. I feel a pang of guilt when I think of him. I will call him, once I’ve figured out what I have to do. Once I’ve given myself a chance to breathe in a way that I haven’t been able to, not since Jess died.

In any other circumstances, it would irk me, having to hand over a story like this to another reporter. But I want nothing to do with it. I want to forget it ever happened. Briefly, I wonder if Si will connect the body with the attack I’d told him about, but why would he? They were two totally different events – one real, one imagined – my fictional version bearing no resemblance to the facts.

‘Going anywhere nice?’ Ben asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully.

‘Well, whatever you do, enjoy it. You deserve a break. Don’t forget to put on your out-of-office that if it’s urgent they should contact one of us.’

Lifting open the lid of my laptop, I log onto my work emails. As I move the cursor towards the out-of-office button, I see an unread message, the title of the sender standing out amongst the PR spam. Companies House.

I click open the message.

With all that has been happening, I’ve forgotten that I even requested it. I should delete it. After all, what use is it now? I want nothing to do with any of this, I’ve done enough damage.

And yet, as my fingers hover for a moment above the keyboard, I feel them move from the ‘Delete’ symbol to ‘Open documents’.

Just one last look, I tell myself. Just one look, and then I’ll leave it.

Chapter 70

Gabriela

It was a perfect winter’s day, frost settled across the immaculately pruned hedge as they reversed out of the driveway.

‘Have you got the nappy bag?’ Ivan asked as they moved along the crescent, their daughter already asleep in the car seat.

‘Of course I have the nappy bag,’ she replied, snorting in a way that was intended to make a statement. Briefly, she turned to offer some sort of riposte, but what would be the point?