‘Am I?’ I said slowly. ‘To be honest, DI Fox –’ I paused. I kept seeing my beautiful dress wrapped round Joseph’s plump white body, like a butterfly struggling out of its pupae. He really was repellent. ‘To be honest, I’m just relieved. Because if you’ve caught him, if it was him that broke in before and him who’s been hounding me, that means – it means it’s all over, doesn’t it?’

‘Yep, I’d say so. At least you might sleep peacefully tonight.’

‘I hope so, DI Fox. I really hope so.’

I put the phone down slowly as the truth of the situation began to sink in.

* * *

While I’d been having my overdue meeting with Renee, Bel had called again.

‘I’ve got terrible jetlag,’ she moaned on my office voicemail. ‘I can’t sleep at all. I remembered what I wanted to tell you, Mag. Why aren’t you answering any of your phones? Ring me on Johnno’s mobile in the morning. Your morning. Or is it my morning? Oh God, I don’t know. My brain’s scrambled – it’s so bloody hot. Hannah sends you a hug.’

Everything was squared up for the show tomorrow. I rang Susan to check on my grandmother. My father had been to see her while I was down in Cornwall and had promised me that she was as well as could be expected; Susan assured me now that Gar was doing fine. I’d be out to see her after work tomorrow, I said.

I put the phone down and stared at the picture of Pendarlin again. I thought of Joseph Blake, of how sad and empty his life must have been to do the things he’d done, and I shuddered as I thought of Fox’s words about the previous harassment. Poor, friendless boy. How desperate for attention he must have been.

Adrenaline had been pounding my body for so long that I felt truly exhausted, its remains trailing like smoke through my veins: I felt like I’d just run a marathon entirely uphill. I had to give myself some space to breathe now, to make the descent to normality. I’d have to physically force myself to turn a corner and put Alex and poor Joseph behind me.

Printing out the final script, I turned the computer off and got straight into a cab. I gave the street name Seb had left me, not caring if I was unfashionably early, just looking forward to seeing him. Just trying to look forward.

The anonymous address turned out to be a small private hotel called the Portobello Hotel, secreted away in the heart of Notting Hill in a street of grand houses not unlike Malcolm’s. The cab driver winked at me as I scrambled out next to two beautifully clipped bushes in giant wooden pots that flanked the entrance.

‘Planning a night of passion, then, darling?’

I blushed scarlet. ‘Um –’