‘Well, they’re not saying it wasn’t you. It’s more that they’re saying they can’t be sure it was you. They can’t disprove your defence. You said it was another guy, and, well, it turns out another guy’s print was on the record fragment. In blood.’

‘So, what about this guy, Ariel?’ I say. ‘Harry Yull?’

‘Nothing. He’s dead. Died of a heart attack in 2000.’

Dead.

The bridge has resumed its usual pace. People walk past, immersed in their own presents.

‘It wasn’t my print,’ I say to Seb, handing him back the phone.

‘It wasn’t your print,’ Seb says, holding me by the shoulders.

‘But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t responsible,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I’m not sure any longer. When I bring it back, it’s not as I told it.’

‘What do you mean?’ he says into the wind.

I look back into the river, inviting me to become a part of it. I turn away from Seb and make off up the bridge, heading to the northern side. He follows me and after just a few strides, I feel his hand firmly against my arm.

‘Stop running. Xander. Just stop.’

‘I have,’ I say. Tears gather behind my eyes and I am so angry that they are there. I don’t need tears. I need resolve. I take in a deep breath and look into Seb’s eyes. I don’t want to burden him with this. I want to take the weight with me. When I go I want to leave the world behind me lighter. But when I look into his eyes, I see that it’s too late.

He stares at me and there is fear and anger there. But he waits.

I sling my mind back to the night it happened. I am there once again, lying behind the chesterfield holding my breath, afraid of being caught. The flames are making shadows on the walls and that song, playing no more, lies broken in two on the floor.

‘Shut. Up,’ the man says.

He has leaned her back over the table, covering her mouth with his hand. I see her wriggling then. She is fighting to get upright. Fighting to get his weight off her body. Fighting to get his hand off her mouth.

Her legs kick out, but reach only air.

I get to my knees. From this position I can see that she is changing. Her face, her neck, are changing colour. Perhaps, I think, I can make a noise. Distract him. I cough loudly and then just as he turns, I duck back down. It has worked. He has released her. He turns back towards her. She gasps loudly, clutching her throat and then levers herself off the table.

He has forgotten what distracted him and has now turned to her, holding her gently by the elbows.