I haven’t roamed as freely as I used to. Back then I’d go from night to night, shedding all the excess that I was carrying; now, instead, it just builds. Whatever is in here, in my head, feels like it has the time at last to multiply and colonise. It is as if I am the host for a disease. But I am tired of being in my head. I have to climb out. I bring myself to my surroundings and am relieved to find that I am in Seb’s house, in ‘my’ room. The key he gave me sits on the bedside table. I leave it there when I go down to the kitchen so that it doesn’t feel as if I’ve taken ownership of it.

I make a pot of coffee and take an extra mug into the living room for when Seb wakes up. As I walk in I hear a grunt and look to see Seb there, slouching on the sofa and staring into the ceiling. He flinches when I walk in but otherwise doesn’t react. He’s dressed for work but there’s growth across his cheeks.

‘You’re up,’ I say and pour him a steaming cup. He gets up to take the coffee.

‘Yeah, well, couldn’t sleep,’ he says.

I sit in the matching chair and put the cafetière at my feet.

‘Listen, Seb,’ I say. ‘I need to ask you something.’ My heart is beating but I don’t think the tremor reaches my voice.

He sits up so that he can better look at me.

‘Ariel didn’t take the money, did he?’ I say.

He half-smiles at the question before he realises that I’m serious. ‘I have no idea, Xand. That was your theory, wasn’t it?’

‘It was to begin with. Until—’

‘Until what?’

‘Until I spoke to you.’

‘I’m not following,’ he says. There is irritation leaking into his voice.

‘He didn’t break into your house and steal the money.’

‘Right … So what’s your new theory?’

I notice him swallow hard, staring at me too firmly. Agitation in the way he seems to concentrate on stilling himself.

‘There was no sign of a break-in,’ I say steadily.

‘Well, there’s the window.’ He looks down briefly before looking up again. ‘You remember how it rattled – it was that rotten.’

I am embarrassed for him – for us both – that I have to ask these questions.

‘But he wouldn’t have known that,’ I say, watching him carefully. There is colour climbing up his neck.

‘Then he could have done it at the wake. I told you he was hanging around upstairs a lot,’ Seb says, shifting in his seat.

‘And then what? Did he climb into your loft and carry out bags full of cash?’

‘Maybe.’

‘How did he know where it would be?’