The young man turned towards her, raising his armful of books in what looked almost like a defensive gesture. ‘Are you a journalist?’

‘What? No, of course not.’

‘We’re not meant to talk to the press.’

‘I’m not the press, I’m Callum Dempster’s girlfriend. Why would I be the press?’

The young man put the books down on the roof of the car and rubbed his very bald head with the palm of his hand. ‘All I know is that he’s been dismissed.’

‘He’s – what? That’s ridiculous. What for?’ But even as she heard her own indignant question she was looking through it, to impossible possibilities.

The bald man opened his car door. ‘I don’t think – it’s not my place to say – we haven’t been told exactly—’ He stopped, took the books from the top of the car and slung them over onto the passenger seat. When he turned back to her he seemed calmer.

‘Look, I’m really sorry. I liked your husband,’ he said, as he sat down behind the wheel. ‘I expect he’s in a pretty bad way.’

‘He’s not my—’ Tamsin began, but the man had already closed the car door.

* * *

Tamsin hailed a taxi to Denham station, bought a new ticket and made her way onto a London-bound train, using only the smallest portion of her mind to complete these external transactions. The rest of her brain was sifting, at speed, through a mass of evidence she’d been unconsciously carrying around for months. Callum’s impotence, now seen in a sinister new light. The photograph of the little girl she had seen on his computer. Hadn’t he even said – and this thought nearly made her retch – that she reminded him of Tamsin? The speed – guilty speed – why hadn’t she seen it before? – with which he’d covered up the photograph after she commented on its slightly sexualised quality.

She wondered if there had been a mistake. But what excuse could there possibly be for showing a topless photograph of her to the children he was trusted to teach? (Tamsin’s outrage bypassed the relish with which her informant had recalled the picture; but when she later remembered it, this only added to her sense of violation.) To think that just four hours ago she had been planning to spend the rest of her life with this man. Right now she didn’t even want to speak to him, let alone see him.