‘The police are doing all they can,’ I assured him. ‘I’m sure it’s probably just someone trying to get a rise out of us. The police officer who came to speak to us, she says these kinds of things bring all sorts of weirdos out of the woodwork. Some people just see it as a game.’

‘It’s only a game if no one gets hurt,’ he said, staring ahead of him. ‘This doesn’t feel like a game. You’re not a chesspiece, Rachel. You’re someone I need to be okay. I need you in my life. In whatever way I can. Be it five minutes at a time, or half an hour here or there. I just want to take care of you.’

He leaned across and kissed me then, his lips soft, breath warm. I could have lost myself there, in those moments, but for the sound of the engine from another car as it pulled into the lay-by and parked a short distance from us. We pulled apart, my heart thudding. We shouldn’t have been so careless. Cars came and went here at all hours, people parking while they walked their dogs or went for a run. I looked over at the car. There was something familiar about it. Blue, dusty. I couldn’t place it but I was sure I’d seen it somewhere recently. I tried to glimpse the figure behind the wheel, but whoever it was had concealed themselves well. A hoodie pulled up over their head. Totally unnecessary in the current weather. I felt uneasy.

‘I think I’d better go home,’ I said to Michael. ‘They’ll be starting to wonder where I am. And we really have to be careful.’ I nodded my head in the direction of the blue car.

Michael glanced at it.

‘Probably some pervert trying to see if he can watch some couple getting lucky,’ he said.

‘Still, I’d better go home,’ I told him, squeezing his hand.

He looked dejected but told me he understood. Told me to take care and to stay in touch. He added that he’d always be there for me, whenever I needed him. I just had to call.

I got out of his car and crossed to my own, glancing back at the blue car, which still had its engine running, the driver sitting in the front seat, watching.

Sunday, 10 June

Chapter Twenty-Four

Elizabeth

The police couldn’t do much about Ingrid Devlin’s threats to publish details of how Laura had died. They could get their press officer to appeal to her better nature, but DI Bradley said he wasn’t sure Ingrid Devlin had a better nature.

‘I’ve had dealings with her before,’ he’d told me, his face stony. ‘She’ll do anything – and step over anyone – to get a byline. We can ask, and we can definitely investigate who in our team is leaking information, but beyond that …’