He jogged back downstairs, sloshed whisky into a crystal tumbler and threw himself into his favourite chair, swinging his feet onto the footstool before taking out his phone to text Tilly. I have an issue I’d REALLY appreciate your help with from Monday. Can I call you tomorrow? When would be good? He wouldn’t call without notice on her off-duty hours. Tilly might not look like a typical party animal with untrendy hair and a dislike of make-up but, according to her, she packed a lot into her weekends.

It was late before he went to bed and then he slept fitfully, surfacing from dreams about Josie under some nameless threat or Maria vanishing from his temporary care. Even Loren flitted into his dreams long enough to jerk him awake with a heavily beating heart. Murky water might have flowed beneath their bridge but he cared what happened to her. Had leaving her alone been irresponsible? But bringing her here had felt impossible. He closed his eyes and willed his body to relax.

A few hours later he jerked awake to hear Josie and Maria giggling. The events of yesterday rushed back at him. The clock told him it was before seven. After checking the girls were OK he watched them navigate the stairs together – Josie running lightly and Maria going down backwards on hands and feet. Nico made a fast circuit of the house to check for hazards. After putting bleach out of reach and the knife block in a high cupboard he saw the girls were watching TV. ‘I’m going to run on the treadmill,’ he said. ‘Will you be OK with Maria, Josie?’

Josie nodded without looking round so he headed for the treadmill in his bedroom, leaving the doors open and the music off so he could listen for problems over the thumping of his feet on the rolling road.

When he’d run eight kilometres he went down to look in on the girls again, now playing with small chunky dolls that must belong to Maria while the TV still blared. Josie glanced up. ‘Are we having eggs for breakfast?’

Nico took a look into the kitchen, seeing almost-empty cereal bowls and splashes of milk that suggested Josie had helped them both to sustenance already. He winked at her. ‘Cereal isn’t breakfast?’

‘No,’ she said with certainty, shaking her head so that her hair danced. ‘Cereal’s a snack.’

‘Eggs, Mydad,’ echoed Maria in her tiny-girl coo as if trying to encourage him to get cooking. Her hazel eyes were on him, one foot hidden by her pyjamas. She wrinkled her nose and lifted her top lip like a tiny horse whinnying.