I slid the notebook back towards me, spinning it around and flicking through the pages until I found one particular illustration. What possible reason could he have had for taking the considerable time and effort to sketch these statues, I wondered, if Chloe was telling the truth and they had never picnicked by them?

At the time the other Jerry had made these sketches, according to Rozalia, he would have been busy trying to figure out whether someone was carrying out acts of deliberate sabotage. Why, then, would he also suddenly decide to write so many apparently deliberate lies, knowing how much heartbreak they would cause the woman he loved, if ever she were to read them?

I tried to picture myself in his shoes, knowing what I now knew. How hard could it be, considering we were essentially identical? What would have driven me to construct such elaborate mistruths?

‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said, picking the notebook back up and tucking it under one arm. ‘You up for a drive?’

She gave me a strange look. ‘Where, exactly?’

‘North,’ I said, and patted the book under my arm. ‘I’d like to take a look at the statues he drew.’

‘Please don’t tell me it’s because you want to go on a fucking picnic,’ she said, a warning in her voice.

I couldn’t help laughing at that. ‘Kind of, yeah.’ She stared angrily at me and I put my hands up in surrender. ‘Or at least,’ I continued, ‘that’s what we can tell people we’re doing if anyone asks where we’re going.’

‘But why?’ she demanded. ‘What the hell do you expect to find there?’

‘It’s just a hunch I have, okay? A feeling.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘Look,’ I explained, ‘your Jerry made up two stories, and I think they’re connected in some way. The first is about all the fights you supposedly had, and the other is about a bunch of picnics that never happened. Not to mention that, prior to all this, he hadn’t written anything in his diary for years. Now, since we can’t exactly go back in time and ask him what he was up to, that means all we have left are those statues he was obsessed with drawing.’

‘You think there’s some reason for all that?’

‘All I can think of,’ I said, ‘is to at least take a look at them. You never know, it might spark something.’

‘I’ll admit it sounds like a plan,’ she said. ‘But I’m too tired, Jerry. I haven’t slept in at least a couple of days.’

‘Chloe . . .’

She stepped towards the kitchen door, and when she turned to look back at me I could see she was fighting back tears. Her voice trembled when she spoke. ‘Tomorrow, okay? I’m borderline hallucinating, for God’s sake. And then we can go on our pretend picnic.’