‘Did I? It was only a dream but yes, I suppose that I did. Joe was clearly bright reds.’

‘Then cross them off the list. Take note of your subconscious mind.’

‘I’m not so sure. What if it told me to go out and do something mad. I’d be classed as insane, hearing voices, listening to what dreams tell me.’

‘I think you should trust what your subconscious is telling you in this case. Something deep inside of you knows that, whoever you’re looking for, it’s not Joe. It was giving you colour-coded clues. Trust that. If a dream tells you to go and shoot someone, don’t trust it. Come on, Bea, use your brain. You haven’t lost your power of knowing what’s right or wrong here.’

I laughed. ‘OK.’

‘Another way of saying it, dreams or no dreams, is that you should trust your gut instincts. If those are telling you not Jo, then we cross him off the list. You kind of had done already.’

‘Done,’ I said. ‘Billy was silver, grey, shades of blue.’

‘Couldn’t be clearer. Did you see what colour Bruno, Michael, Sam or Jon were?’

‘I was about to before that PPI call.’

‘And did you see what colour Graham was?’

‘Browns, maroons.’

‘He used to dress in those colours.’

‘He did.’

‘So maybe that has something to do with it,’ said Heather.

‘Maybe,’ I said.

*

One night, soon after Graham had proposed, he had gone to give a lecture on the life of Matisse. ‘Back about ten,’ he said as he kissed me goodbye then headed out the door.

Ten o’clock came, then eleven, and I went up to bed. Graham often got caught up after his talks, with eager students wanting to ask questions, and he could never resist the opportunity to adjourn to a nearby pub for further discussion.

At eleven thirty, I was awoken by loud knocking on the door. I grabbed my dressing gown, hastened down the stairs and opened the front door to find a young policeman standing there. I knew immediately that something had happened. ‘Is he still alive?’ I asked.

The policeman asked if he could come in. By this time, I felt as if I had left my body, but must have ushered him into our sitting room where he shook his head in answer to my question. ‘I am so sorry, Ms Brooks.’

‘What happened?’

‘A massive heart attack.’

‘Where?’

‘Just outside Highgate tube station.’

‘Was he taken to hospital?’

‘He was, but there was nothing they could do.’

‘Are you quite quite sure that it was Graham White?’

‘We are,’ said the policeman. ‘Would you like to call anyone, and then I can take you to the hospital.’

I called Marcia and Pete, got dressed, then went with the police officer to the hospital. The hours after that were a blur. I walked through them as though I was barely there.