‘When we last spoke,’ she says, ‘we talked about your … situation at work.’ She has to half shout to be heard over the noise. ‘Is all of that … still on your mind?’

Now that I can look at her, close up, she doesn’t seem quite as young as I remember. Around her eyes are tiny, feathered wrinkles. I draw a hand over my own face. My skin feels dry, my lips cracked and raw from winter cold.

‘I mean it is, but only because I’ve traced some other people who knew her.’

‘So you’ve kept on investigating, is that it?’ Her voice sounds stricter: a note of disapproval. I can see in her hazel eyes what she is thinking. She is concerned about you. She has come all this way to see me, never mind that when I last saw her, I told her I was fine. And all those tens for her questionnaire. Completely satisfied. Completely okay. I put a hand on the counter to steady myself, gritty grains of sugar under my palm. I try to explain, to justify myself. ‘There are all kinds of parts that don’t add up. She lied … Sarah lied about her parents … I found out yesterday … They’re dead and I thought they were alive.’ I make myself stop. I sound crazy. I can hear myself. I sound a real mess.

‘Jennifer?’ Freya is leaning towards me. ‘Don’t you want anything to eat?’

I shake my head. ‘No. No thank you.’ The very thought of it makes me feel ill.

‘All right. Fine. But just wait there.’ She turns aside to place our order, stretching foward to speak over the counter. As she pulls out a payment card from her wallet, another card slithers out with it. I see it tumble to the floor, flipping over and over, and it lands right at my feet. It takes me a moment to recognize what it is. Pale pink, with a photo. My body gives a strange shudder.

Freya isn’t looking, she’s too busy paying. Hardly thinking what I’m doing, I crouch down and pick up the driver’s licence, my knees cracking as I straighten up again.

Freya turns to me again and I slip the card into my coat pocket. She has two tall paper cups in her hands and holds one out to me. I swear I can feel the warmth of it from here. I can see her mouth moving; she’s saying something else to me. ‘What?’ I say. It’s so noisy in here, so crowded, more people are pushing in all the time.

‘Jenn,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m worried about you.’