Eventually shaking off the suburban traffic, we shot along the Embankment, the river a dark and oily flank beside us, the Houses of Parliament on the opposite bank like something from a Gothic fairytale, down plain old Nine Elms Lane, heading for Chelsea Bridge. Passing the Dogs’ Home, Digby let out a pitiful whimper, pushing his cold nose into my placating hand.

At the roundabout, I realised suddenly how very near I was to where Seb was having his drink. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have just one, just to say goodbye. I hesitated until the van behind me started to beep impatiently, and then I found the big pub quite easily – The Latchmere, pinioned by the busy intersection; the billboards advertising the upstairs theatre – a new production of Twelfth Night. I stared at the swirly writing for a moment, at the photograph of a grim-faced Sebastian and a jester-type guy and a grand woman with swept-up hair wearing a black veil, and I laughed out loud. It wasn’t quite the West End show I’d been expecting, but at least it existed!

A police car screamed past, narrowly missing a young girl in nothing but jogging bottoms and a crop-top despite the December cold. She ran across the road clutching a huge bottle of cider against her jutting ribs, her great gold hoops swinging as she went, and I shivered. The brightly lit pub looked like a cosy oasis in a chilly urban night; through the windows I watched people laughing, joking, toasting one another, rapt in deep and serious conversation. People living. Two men kissed passionately and then I spotted Seb and a tall skinny woman with dishevelled hair leaning across to hand him a pint – then he was gone from sight.

I felt like such an outsider – never more isolated, in fact. I should just leave. But I didn’t. I sat there in the car, watching still, like a stalker myself. I’ll just pop in for a second, I decided eventually, when Digby started to whine and snuffle. I’ll just have one for the road.

I looked for a parking space. Spotting a small side-street under the railway bridge, I turned right across the traffic as a small neat figure, hood up, stepped out without warning in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, the car stalling as the figure slipped safely into the shadows under the bridge without a backwards glance.

My heart had stopped. It couldn’t be.

I leapt out of the car and screamed her name – but she’d disappeared already.

I was transfixed, staring after her, blocking both lanes, a transit van beeping furiously somewhere behind me – but I couldn’t move. Then Digby barked frantically, and I snapped out of my trance as the Number 44 bore down on me from one direction, an ambulance with all lights flashing from the other.

I was sure I’d just seen Fay.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six