I sigh, kicking my foot against the wheel of my car.

I am torn in two, yet I can’t deny there is a greater tug on one side. And I know, deep down I know, that at some point in the future my need for the truth will outweigh everything else.

This is why, an hour later, I’m back at the pub in Balsall Heath. I hold my hand over my bag as I push open the heavy door, and the smell of stale beer hits me immediately. The barman from yesterday is rubbing a cloth around a pint glass. He looks up, surprised, as I walk over. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Just a Coke, please.’ I glance around. ‘I was hoping to find the woman I met yesterday. Ange?’

He gives one nod but doesn’t respond.

‘I was with another woman and we sat in that corner.’ I point to the booth at the far end of the bar. ‘The guy who came in looking for her, he looked like he knew where to find her, and you said she comes in most days.’

He stops cleaning his glass and lays the tea towel on the bar. ‘I don’t know why you’re here again, love, and I have to say I don’t think you look like a copper, but take my advice and keep well away from both of them.’ He arches his eyebrows, straightening his back as he begins to wipe around the glass again. He has pitted skin and a few missing teeth, and still I have no idea if I can trust him to help, but he’s the only hope I have.

‘Please,’ I beg. ‘This is really important.’

‘She left you suddenly, yeah? Didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to you. I don’t want to know what kind of trouble she’s in now.’

‘She’s not in any trouble,’ I say.

‘Doesn’t sound like it.’

‘I just need to ask her about her daughter. That’s all it is, I promise.’

He opens his mouth to speak when the double doors bang open. Closing it again, he turns his back on me, but not before I’ve seen his face pale. I look around as the man with the tattoos walks in.

‘Should I ask him?’ I hiss across the bar.

‘I wouldn’t,’ he says quietly over his shoulder. ‘Stay out of it. You don’t want him thinking you have anything to do with her. You’ve got to hope he doesn’t recognise you. The usual?’ he asks, turning as the man approaches the bar. When he has his pint and has sunk into a booth in the corner, I ask the barman again.

‘Can you tell me where she lives?’

‘One of the bedsits off London Road, as far as I know, but I can’t tell you where exactly.’