I don’t know what to think. I try to cast my mind back to all those years ago. To the aftermath of what happened. But it just comes to me in pieces, fragments of colourless memories. He sounded perfectly nice in the messages we’ve exchanged this week, but I know people can easily hide behind words on a screen.

‘You’re meeting him this weekend, then?’ Declan asks.

I nod. ‘Friday evening for a coffee.’

He nods, too. ‘I don’t suppose me telling you to stay away from him would make any difference?’

I don’t like where this is going. It must show in my body language, because Declan takes one last long drag of his cigarette and tosses the butt into the rainy night, ignoring the saucer I’d given him to act as a de facto ashtray. He waves his hands as if shooing the smoke out of the room then closes the door.

‘I feel like a total prick for asking,’ he says. ‘But I’m only watching out for you. I like you, Ingrid,’ he says, his face colouring. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘I’m pretty sure I can deal with him,’ I say, knowing that there’s no question of my professionalism slipping. He’s too vital a source for the book for me to change my mind about meeting him. Declan looks crestfallen. ‘But thank you for giving me the heads-up,’ I tell him. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

He opens his mouth and I’m sure he’s about to say something just as the alarm beeps on the tumble dryer to indicate it’s finished drying his trousers.

‘I’ll just get those,’ I say.

‘And I suppose I should be heading on home,’ he says, sighing. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. It’s just, you’re a good person, Ingrid, and I didn’t – I mean I don’t – want you getting yourself mixed up in something.’

I cross the room with his warm, dry clothes. His hand brushes mine as he takes his clothes from me. He looks directly at me. There is something in his expression I can’t put my finger on. A darkness, perhaps. He blinks, long, dark lashes – wasted on a man, my mother would’ve said – brushing the top of his cheeks. The intensity of his gaze is back on me and I see he is moving closer.

I step back, but his hand is on my cheek. His skin is rough, calloused. I can feel adrenaline start to surge in my veins. The fight or flight impulse is getting ready to kick in. But this is Declan. Declan doesn’t hurt people. I return his gaze, willing him not to make the move it feels like he is getting ready to make.