User name. That would be her email, most likely. And her password – if she was like most people – would be the same as the one for her email and laptop.

She typed it in.

Bingo.

Her account details came up, and Brenda giggled. She actually giggled. It was not something she did normally, but this was not normal. This was extraordinary.

She had over half a million pounds in her current account, along with some investment accounts, adding up to nearly a million pounds.

Alice was rich. Brenda was rich.

The whole world had opened up in front of her. She could take any path she wanted, do anything, go anywhere. There was only one obstacle.

Ned. She could not ever see him again, but it was clear he would not leave her alone. Eventually he would show up, which was a problem.

But, like all problems, there was a solution.

She spent the afternoon looking at Google Maps of the area. She needed a place with specific characteristics. She found it ten miles outside the city.

Ned’s student house in Nottingham was about four hundred yards from a pub, the Dirty Duck. On the map it looked like the quickest path for him was along a road that ran between two industrial units, before emerging onto the main road.

Presumably he would come on foot, and presumably he would take the shortest route.

The route between two industrial units, both closed for the day.

She sent him a message.

Can we meet at the Dirty Duck at 7?

The reply came instantly.

Why there? Can we meet earlier?

Because I don’t want to run into anyone. And I’m tied up until then

OK. See you then

She parked where she could see the road between the industrial units and waited. Just before seven a man turned into it.

She recognized Ned from the pub in Ambleside and the photos on Alice’s phone.

She started the engine and followed him. When he was about twenty yards away she beeped her horn – the horn on Alice’s Polo – and pulled to a halt behind him. When he turned to look at her, she beckoned him to get in on the passenger side.

She kept her head down, looking at her phone as he got in, her face hidden by the baseball cap.

He sat in the passenger seat.

‘Hi,’ he said, his voice nervous. ‘Thanks for stopping.’

She raised a finger as though she was too busy to reply, then glanced around, checking there was no one in the area who could see them.

It was deserted. She took off the baseball cap, and he frowned in confusion.

‘You’re not Alice,’ he said.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ she said, in her normal, Australian voice.

The confusion deepened. ‘Who are you?’