‘And count yourself lucky we haven’t charged you with Being on Enclosed Premises. Don’t go breaking into any more houses, even if you think they’re empty,’ she says.

Blake leads me out to get my things. The fag ends are the only things that I can see through the window of the paper bag they hand me.

‘I am sorry,’ I say at last to Blake as she turns to go. ‘Tell her family I am sorry.’

She smiles but there is no joy in it at all.

‘I can’t go out in these,’ I say indicating the jogging pants and thin grey sweatshirt they have given me. The plimsolls are the things that make me feel most vulnerable. ‘Can I at least get my boots back?’

‘Evidence,’ Blake says, shaking her head.

I am about to protest when I remind myself that she has pulled strings to get me out of here.

‘Thank you for finding a way to get me out,’ I say at last.

She frowns a little at this as if confused. ‘Don’t thank me. Thank him,’ she says, nodding at the space behind me.

My breath catches as I chase her meaning. I look across the low aluminium gate and see him for the first time in years.

‘Seb?’

‘You look like crap,’ he says.

11

Thursday

It is 03:11 according to the clock. The warmth of the car and the smoothness of the ride cajole me into sleep, but I can’t let go yet. I look across to Seb who holds the wheel with confidence. His sleeves are crisp, cufflinks glinting gently in the street lights as they pass. He stares straight ahead at the road in concentration, though the traffic is light on Crystal Palace Road. It seems as if he’s keeping his eyes occupied just to avoid me.

We go over some speed bumps and then pull off to the right and down a row of smart terraced houses. Memories rush in but in no kind of order. I know this place. The car draws smoothly to a halt and a button is pressed for a handbrake. When did this happen to cars?

‘This is us,’ he says and steps out. He looks the same, still handsome, greyer. He’s a touch more drawn around the cheek but something gets us all. I climb out and follow him to his door and wait while he unlocks it. He presses a switch to flood the hall with soft amber light. The walls are painted in muted shades but the light dances off the polished wood handrails and antique sideboard.

‘Come in,’ he says, waiting.

‘I can go,’ I say, looking at the dirt on my hands. ‘I won’t stay.’ The cold drops over me and irritatingly I shiver.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he says. ‘Come. You’re letting the weather in.’