I then repeated the process for Billy, with the addition of some of the material I had found a couple of nights earlier. Soon I had more papers all over the floor with parts highlighted, others screwed up into a ball to be discarded.

Could they be the ones? I asked myself. I needed a second opinion and resolved to send my findings to Pete and see if he could confirm what I had found or if I had been off on a wild-goose chase. In the meantime, I wondered – could Grace and Billy have met in a local pub? On the Heath? In a church after a Sunday service? I clicked on images from Fortis Green from the 1930s and 1940s and pages of black-and-white photos came up, some showing monochrome streets, others showing people in parks, in front of shops, posing, smiling at the cameras. Who were these people? All with a story to tell, a life behind a photo that captured a moment in time. Was one of them named Grace Harris, waiting for news of a soldier fighting in the war?

*

A few seconds after midnight, my mobile pinged with messages. One from Marcia and Pete wishing me A Happy New Year, New Start, New Everything; another from Heather saying Onwards and don’t look back. I wondered if she was referring to the past life story as well as life in general. Another was from Stuart saying, The best is yet to come.

If only, I thought, as I looked at a couple of others from friends texting their messages of hope for the next chapter. I sent my own good wishes back and, when I put my phone back on the table, I spotted the piece of paper with Billy and Grace’s addresses. I reopened my laptop and looked for Google Maps.

The address I had for where Grace had lived was in Northern Road in Fortis Green. I had driven through it a thousand times on my way up to Muswell Hill. Had I ever felt a sense of recognition there? I asked myself. I couldn’t say that I had. I liked the tree-lined streets around there – the houses all had what the estate agents would call character – and, in fact, I had even looked at a property near there when I was looking to buy many years ago. I checked for the house number for Grace. No. 176. Might take a drive past one day, I thought.

It was 12.15 a.m. I felt a rush of curiosity. I could go and have a look now. Start the New Year by being daring. I’d go now. I put my coat on and opened the front door to a blast of cold air.

‘Happy New Year,’ called a voice to my left. Jon. ‘Off to your party? You’re a bit late.’