At 4 p.m., Si arrives in the office, straight from court. I notice my pulse quicken when I see him, looking away before he can catch my eye.

For a moment, I consider going over to him, talking him through what happened on the Heath. If this was a story I needed to work through, he would be one of my first ports of call. But what would be the point? I’ve reported it both officially and to Oscar, and there was no sign of anything having happened. Maybe the truth is I have fabricated the whole thing in my mind. In the circumstances, it’s not an unreasonable conclusion that I might have misconstrued the situation. I was, after all, what would be officially classified as off my fucking tits at the time.

Two hours later, I file my last piece, Si watching me as I shut down my computer.

‘You’re off early. You all right? You look like shit.’

‘Apparently so, thanks for reminding me,’ I say.

He grins, ‘Oh don’t worry, I’d still shag you.’

Reluctantly, my face cracks into a smile as I swing my bag over my shoulder.

‘Night, Si,’ I say as I move towards the door.

‘Fancy a drink?’

I shake my head without looking back. ‘Not tonight. Apparently I need some beauty sleep.’

‘Fair enough. Oh yeah, a package came for you earlier,’ he adds flippantly, and I stop, turning slowly on my heels.

‘For me? What was it?’

‘I don’t know, I thought it might be considered bad manners to open someone else’s post.’ His eyes remain fixed on his screen. ‘It’s down there.’

Following his gesture towards the corner of the room, I pick up the box. Something about it makes me hold it slightly away from my body.

‘When did this arrive?’

‘Hmm? Oh, I don’t know, this afternoon. You were out front having a fag.’

Using a pair of scissors I slice along the packing tape, the blade pressing beneath my fingers until the cardboard bursts open. My fingers move uncertainly over the tissue paper as I peel it away.

Si looks up as I step backwards, the parcel in my hands falling towards the floor like a dead bird dropping from the sky. His eyes follow mine to the carpet, towards a pair of red suede trainers.

‘What’s wrong?’ he says, standing and walking towards me.

‘What the fuck?’ My voice is little more than a whisper as I look from one shoe to the other.

‘Si, where did they come from?’ Still, I don’t look at him, my eyes unable to tear themselves away from the floor, from the trainers I had left in my bag on the Heath.

‘I told you, someone dropped them off. What’s the matter?’

When I fail to respond he holds out a hand to me. ‘Issy, what’s going on?’