He was a man I’d met before. This was Pete, the security guard I’d spoken to at Beachview. Joe had said Troy was a quarter Dutch, and I knew that his dad was called Piet. I hadn’t connected Pete from Beachview and Troy’s dad Piet at all.

I took half a step back. He was tall, with a straight back and a soldier’s bearing, and he gave off an aura of hostility, exactly as he had when I spoke to him in the spring.

‘Been ringing the bell?’ he said.

‘Sorry to disturb you.’ I screwed the note up and put it in my pocket. I’d told this man I was Joe’s cousin, so I couldn’t switch stories at this point.

‘I thought you were someone else. ’S why I didn’t answer. What did you want?’ He looked me up and down.

‘I don’t even know if you’re the right person,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for Piet Henry. Troy’s dad?’

‘Who’s asking? Hang on – “Joe Simpson’s cousin”.’ He said it with extreme scepticism. I wanted to run away, but I’d come here to do this, so I had to get on with it.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m still trying to find out what happened. I didn’t realize when I spoke to you before that you were Troy’s dad.’

He looked shocked for a fraction of a second, then turned away, and when he looked back at me he seemed to hate me even more than before. He shrugged.

‘Nothing to say,’ he said. ‘Water under the bridge. And you’re not Joe’s cousin.’

‘Do you think Troy might ta–’

He didn’t even let me finish. ‘No, and you know that very well because you got Luke to ask him months ago. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you have to stop.’

‘But we just –’

‘Leave it. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll drop it. Leave it in the past.’

I tried to think of something else to say, but he went back into the house and slammed the door in my face.

After we’d had dinner (I was still rotating the same meal plan and it worked smoothly enough) I told Sasha I had some reading to do, snuggled Raffy and shut myself in my room, where I created a LinkedIn account and searched for all the variations I could think of on Troy’s name.