It didn’t take Janet long to make her way to Stourbridge Common. She didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to it and had always enjoyed walking along the river. That early evening, the river was busy with boats, and people sitting on the grass enjoying cans of cider. Janet suspected most of them were students – although the city got quieter in the summer because many students returned home, some stayed to work and continued to party. It was a nice place to live, much nicer than the place in Kent, near Dartford, where Janet had been raised with her four brothers and two sisters. Her mother, like her, was a single parent, and had suffered from a serious drug problem.

When she was a schoolgirl, Janet had been on a trip to Cambridge and had decided that somehow, one day, she would live there. By the time she was old enough to leave school, she’d fled from her troubled family home and managed to get work in the city as a cleaner in a pub. Not long after that she’d fallen pregnant with Dean.

As Janet continued walking along the path by the river, she soon found herself at the spot where Toni’s body had been discovered. Bunches of flowers and cuddly toys lay in a row, looking tired after being battered by the elements. Janet wondered who all the people were who’d left flowers, so she bent down to read some of the notes attached. It wasn’t the grand memorial Toni would have wanted, Janet knew that much.

While she was inspecting the flowers, a shadow cast over her and she spun around, terrified, to find Gerald standing behind her.

She recognised him from the pictures in the press, but they’d never met in person.

His face was pale and awash with tears. Janet stood and moved aside so he could get a better look at the flowers and soft toys.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ She swallowed.

‘Thank you,’ Gerald responded, with robotic precision.

‘I’m Janet. I knew your wife.’

‘Knew her?’ Gerald turned to face the stranger. ‘How?’

‘I’m a member of the book club.’ Janet didn’t know why she was telling him this, but she felt compelled to be honest.

‘You saw her that night?’ Janet noticed that Gerald was holding a garden gnome in his arms.

‘Yes, I did.’ Janet scratched her neck nervously. Eczema was irritating her skin.

Gerald turned his attention back to the ratty bunches of flowers. ‘I wanted to leave something that would last,’ he said, giving the gnome pride of place among the offerings. ‘Flowers die, don’t they.’ He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

Janet stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. She wasn’t comfortable with shows of affection, especially with men she didn’t know, but she wanted him to know that she was sorry.