‘Amazing, maybe?’ Aylin says with a smile. ‘Look, I understand that it’s confusing and probably scary and impractical, but if everything goes well, it’s actually really fucking wonderful, Karen.’

‘I don’t know if I remember how to do it.’

‘You do. Believe me.’

They look at each other in silence. Then Aylin sits down at the table and takes a sip of her wine.

‘Cheers, then,’ she says and takes another. ‘And what does Leo say about it? Because it’s his, right?’ she adds.

‘Yes, it’s his. That’s the one thing I’m sure about in this mess. Well, he claims he wants us to keep it, but what else is he supposed to say? It can hardly be a dream scenario for him, either.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, for one thing, we’re not really in a proper relationship. We don’t really know each other very well.’

Aylin chuckles.

‘Apparently well enough to—’

‘We’re sleeping together.’

‘And living together. That’s a pretty good start . . .’

‘Not together. He’s my lodger. I suppose it was a better deal than being homeless. But now that things are starting to work out for him, maybe being saddled with a kid isn’t what he needs. Besides, he could probably find someone considerably . . .’

‘What? Younger? Better-looking?’

‘Yes, that too,’ Karen replies sourly. ‘But I think more than anything he needs someone more . . . radiant.’

‘I don’t think that’s Leo’s type. This is more about you. Maybe you’re selling him short?’

For a moment, Karen considers telling her about Luna. About how happy Leo had seemed basking in her light.

But she decides not to. Maybe Leo doesn’t need someone radiant. Maybe he needs someone who makes him radiant. Someone like Luna.

Or at least someone more exciting than a middle-aged copper with crippling emotional baggage.

*

Fifteen minutes later, she’s back in her car. A wave of weariness suddenly makes her limbs and eyelids feel like lead. She leans her head against the steering wheel and catches a glimpse of the bag containing Billy Formby’s belongings on the passenger seat out of the corner of her eye. Keys, a blood-smeared wallet and a mobile phone. A pang of guilt as the image of Billy behind a glass window at Thysted Hospital flashes before her eyes.

Where the fuck do I get off feeling sorry for myself?

And while she buckles her seatbelt and starts the car, the questions start to pile up. How will Billy feel about knowing that his parents genuinely don’t care whether he lives or dies, if he ever wakes up? Who even knows he’s in the hospital? Is he missed by anyone?