I sit on the low wall in front of Bethany’s apartment block, looking out over the river. I stare through the masts and rigging of the SS Great Britain; on the tip of the hill behind the ship is Cabot Tower, dedicated to the man who sailed across the ocean and ‘discovered’ America. To the left is Goldney Hall, where I imagine my father was once wined and dined when the university held grand dinners for the Ambassador of China and other notabilities. I wonder whom he wined and dined in my flat. His flat. I can even see the roof and the ledge where I used to sit with Maddison. Is Bethany right? Am I blaming my sister because I’m unable to forgive her and I feel sorry for Dad? I hold the black pawn in my palm, roll it between my finger and thumb, feel its grooves and its smooth, spherical head.

I call Amy. I expect it to go straight to voicemail.

‘Nick! I told you, don’t call me again.’

‘Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being insane.’

She gives a juddering sigh, as if she’s on the verge of tears.

I press on. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me right now. Just one thing. I need Luca’s mobile number. I’ve got his copy of The Divine Comedy.’

‘Really? That’s what you’re obsessing about now? Okay, I’ve changed my mind: get some help. Jungian, Freudian, on the NHS, private, bespoke – whatever. You need some serious therapy.’

‘I want to know whether to post it to him or not.’

‘Nick! Are you even listening? I’m sure it can wait. There’s not much point; it’ll cost more than it would to buy a new copy. Besides, he’ll be back to see his tutor soon.’

‘Yeah, well. I’d like to keep in touch with him.’

She makes a clicking sound with her tongue. She thinks I’m a complete fool and that I have more important things to worry about. Anything to get rid of me, though.

‘Don’t call me again until you’re over this,’ she says and hangs up.

Amy, though, no matter what she says, is reliable. A moment later she texts me Luca’s contact details.

I dial the number, but there’s no response. I’m about to give up, when on the ninth ring he answers. I stumble over my words.

‘Luca. It’s Nick. Nick Flowers.’

I haven’t thought this through. What am I going to say? How do I persuade him to talk to me?

‘Nick. What can I do for you?’

He’s cold, businesslike, but then what the hell did I expect?

‘I know. I know what you did to Bethany.’

‘I have no idea what you say.’ He speaks without a moment’s hesitation.

Too quick.

‘I haven’t told anyone yet.’