This restless anxiety and creeping depression were relatively new. When she was younger, she’d never felt this way. It was only in the last few years, after the break-up of her marriage and the deaths of both her parents, that she’d started to suffer these bouts of blackness. She’d let herself believe that lifestyle changes – drinking less, exercising more, allowing herself to fall in love again – had fixed the problem, but this morning she admitted to herself, for the first time, that this might be something she couldn’t fix by herself.

The logical part of her brain knew there was nothing wrong with admitting there was a problem. Especially these days, when every time she opened a newspaper or listened to a podcast she was confronted with some famous person talking about their battles with mental health problems. Despite this, she couldn’t help feeling ashamed. As if it was some weakness inside her, and if she was a stronger, more resilient person she would be better able to deal with life’s knocks.

She’d grown up believing she could do anything, that she was the sort of person who could achieve whatever she set her mind to. Discovering in middle age that her own mind could refuse to act the way she wanted it to was disconcerting, to say the least.

When she’d spoken to Louise about it on Sunday, Louise had advised Dee to make an appointment with her doctor. At the time, Dee had agreed that was a good idea but, so far, she still hadn’t made the appointment. Maybe she’d do that later this morning. First, she needed to get some work done, because the book she was working on wasn’t going to write itself.

Somehow, she found the focus to get two solid hours of writing done. By the time she’d finished, she was feeling more upbeat. Her mood improved even further when she checked her emails and saw a new one from Leonard. The email had two photos attached to it. Different shots of the woman called Annie. In the first photo, she was sitting at the bar in the Town of Ramsgate talking to Nick, the landlord. In the next photo, Annie had her head turned away from Nick and was smiling at someone, or something, out of the shot.

Is this her? Leonard had typed beneath the final photo.

Yes, Dee replied, That’s her.

Leonard’s reply came back five minutes later.

What do you want me to do now?

In her mind, Dee could hear Louise’s voice, telling her how bonkers this whole thing was. At best, a waste of time. At worst, an unnecessary intrusion into another person’s private life. Yet Dee’s gut wouldn’t let her give it up. Not just yet.

Follow her, she typed. Find out as much as you can and let me know asap.