I draw a deep breath, and I know that I have to tell her this much, because otherwise, why would she agree to speak to me, some stranger, getting in touch about someone from years ago? ‘Chloe … I’m … really sorry to have to tell you this. I was the housing manager and … and … I’m afraid Sarah died … a little while ago. Your number was on a postcard … An old postcard you sent her. I’m trying to contact all of her old friends. I’d like to meet up, if we possibly could?’

In the silence that follows, I wish I was able to see Chloe’s face. I can’t tell what kind of emotion she’s going through.

‘I know this is a shock,’ I rush on. ‘I do know it’s difficult. It’s just … we’re all still trying to make sense of what happened. You were friends with her, weren’t you? If we could meet, if I could speak to you, it would really help …’

‘She died? But how?’

‘She … I … I’m sorry – it would be best, honestly, if you can, for me to explain face to face …’

‘You want to meet up? I don’t … I mean, where even are you?’

‘In London, Brixton. Is that anywhere near you?’

Chloe gives a barking laugh. ‘Right now I’m in Scotland. About to fly to Dubai. And I’m really not sure you understand. High school, Sarah …’ A gap. ‘That was not a happy time.’

For the first time, I register the pain in her voice. Not just shock and hesitation, but pain. Now it’s my turn to pull back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’

Now there is only a silence between us. I can’t push her, not after what she’s just said. All I can do is listen, and wait.

‘You said she had a postcard I sent?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She kept it. She was using it as a bookmark.’

There is silence again.

‘She didn’t forget you,’ I add. ‘She must have thought of you a lot.’ I wait three, four beats. Then I brave it. ‘Do you think we could possibly meet?’

She lets out a long breath. ‘Well … but, like I say, I’m in Scotland.’

I press a hand to my head, trying to think. How can I possibly get up there? There is no possible way I can.

‘Wait,’ says Chloe. ‘Could you get to Gatwick?’

‘Gatwick?’

‘It’s where I’m flying out of. To Dubai. I’m getting an internal flight down from Edinburgh on Wednesday.’

Gatwick.

I know my way there. Of course I do. It sits on the train line between here and my parents’ house. I have travelled past it dozens of times in my life. And Wednesday is my afternoon off. ‘Then I could …’ I can hardly believe I’m saying this. ‘Then I could meet you there? At the airport?’