I stop. My turn to hesitate now. ‘Yes?’

‘You are sure, are you?’

‘About what?’

Abayomi touches the photo frame on his desk, an unconscious move with the tips of his fingers. ‘Are you sure that you’re okay?’

I’m wearing lipstick and eyeliner. I’m wearing blusher and heels and the belt, for heaven’s sake. I can’t feel a single hair out of place.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ I tell him.

I don’t let my smile move an inch as I step towards the door, and I close it as tightly as I can when I leave.

The rest of the day all goes so well. I’m back in the swing of it so easily, as if I’ve never even been off. Within hours, my files are all up to date. I go out on appointments in the afternoon, and I complete them all without a hitch.

Being back here is such a relief. I’ve returned to my ordinary life; I can put all the rest behind me. When I check my phone, there are missed calls from Marianne and the sight of them gives me a pang in my stomach. But after a minute, I make myself delete them. Haven’t I made up my mind about this? I need to concentrate solely on my job, and on Charlie. I can’t keep getting mixed up with anything else.

Then just as I’m about to leave the office for the day, my scarf already half tied around my neck, my work mobile rings. This time it’s a call from a London number. When I answer, a voice says, ‘Ms Arden?’

‘Yes?’ I say.

A pause. There have been so many strange phone calls lately, but I don’t recognize this voice at all. ‘Yes?’ I say again.

‘Sorry, hello, my name is Mike Bernard. I’m calling on behalf of the coroner.’

‘The coroner?’

‘Yes. Regarding Sarah Jones and the forthcoming inquest into her death.’

I have to close my eyes. I should have known. I really should have expected this.

‘We would like to gather a further statement from you, as a witness.’

I tug at my scarf to loosen it; it has got wrapped so tightly around my neck. Coroner’s court, the inquest. I can feel the whole thing opening up in front of me again, as though I haven’t put any of it away at all. I sit back down in my chair and pull off my gloves. Even when I try, I can’t seem to turn away. Instead, it feels as though I’m being picked out for this. It feels as though, even if I wanted it to, this awful tragedy just won’t let me go. I knew her, says my own voice in my head. She sent me an email. When friends and relatives didn’t want to know.