Stacey looked around the landing, her lips pursed, hands on her hips. ‘So where is this computer? And who is this woman?’

Paula pointed to the cubbyhole door and gave Stacey the key points. She was done by the time Stacey was settled in front of the laptop. Stacey swung round in the chair and stared at Paula, frowning. ‘You’ve taken in a teenage boy? You?’

‘What? You mean, as in “the lesbians”?’

‘No,’ she said impatiently. ‘You know I’m not like that. I mean you, as in, never shown any interest in parenting.’

Paula rubbed her tired eyes. Just what she needed. A discussion on her maternal instincts, or lack thereof. ‘I’m not parenting, for fuck’s sake. I’m taking in a stray. For the time being. Besides, Elinor’s the one doing the hands-on. Look at me. Here I am. Not on a sofa with Torin. OK?’

Stacey turned back to the screen and pressed the power button. ‘Fine. So long as you remember the prime directive of mispers. If in doubt…’

‘Think murder. I know. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, can you shove over enough to let me at that bottom drawer? Apparently that’s where all the paperwork is.’

Stacey obliged but there was still barely room for Paula to crouch beside her. She opened the drawer and found it almost filled to the brim with folders, envelopes and loose papers. ‘You’d be better taking the whole thing out and sitting down on the landing with it,’ Stacey muttered, her head already in what she was doing. ‘It never ceases to amaze me – how can you not password your computer? Especially when you share your home with a teenage boy? Are you listening, Paula?’

‘No, I’m not.’ Paula finally wrestled the drawer free of its runners and backed out of the room. She took it through to Bev’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the rumpled duvet. Unlike Nadia Wilkowa, Bev wasn’t a neat freak, which made Paula feel a little better about her own untidiness. She’d seen enough of the mess left by lives cut unexpectedly short to have learned the lesson of what’s left behind but it still hadn’t been enough to make her change her ways.

But at least Bev was careful with the paperwork. The top folder contained birth certificates for her and Torin, plus her marriage certificate and the divorce decree. The next envelope held National Insurance numbers, National Health Service numbers, a note of blood groups and Torin’s red record book from babyhood. A folder of bank statements and another of credit card bills. Bev was one of those people who paid off her balance dutifully every month.