It had been Dan’s decision not to eat in the hotel dining room that evening. He had glanced into its dazzlingly bright interior and seen the young shirtsleeved businessmen seated at the tables, their mobile phones clustered around them as if they were an integral part of the dinner service, and he felt that he didn’t want to be part of them. He also had a suspicion that the superior-looking headwaiter might take unkindly to the scruffy clothes that he had hastily thrown on that morning. So he and Katie left the hotel and walked across the street to a cheery-looking establishment called Buchan’s Steak Bar. They sat opposite each other at a small table tucked away into the corner of the restaurant, next to the door that led to the gents’ lavatory. They had been lucky enough to get a seat at all, as the place was seething with feasting late-night shoppers, and every square inch of the floor space was taken up with enormous shopping bags and parcels of every size and shape. Yet although the room was filled with the general clamour of pre-Christmas merriment, the mood at their table was solemn.

Dan placed his knife and fork down on his plate. “Are you sure you don’t feel like eating anything?”

Katie shook her head and took another drink from her wineglass. “I had a ham roll at the hospital. That’ll do me.”

“You’ve eaten nothing else all day, though.”

“For goodness’ sakes, please stop worrying about me, Dan. I’m fine.”

Dan flicked his head to the side. “Okay.”

Katie let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m just so . . . keyed up about Patrick.”

Dan finished off a mouthful of steak, and then pushed the plate to one side. “You don’t have to apologize. I can imagine how you’re feeling.”