I stare at the balloon I’m holding. Hers was the one with ‘Happy 30th’ on it; the one she had on the tube. The one abandoned and bobbing over everyone’s heads, its string trailing across people’s shoulders. Salvi bought her that balloon and he tied a bow in the end to ‘pretty it up’ and he gave it to her, didn’t he? He knew Philippa. Why did he lie about it? He saw her that day. He saw her and gave her that balloon. And then she died.

‘You did know Philippa Helens, didn’t you?’

‘Who?’ He’s looking at me all innocent, all incredulous. As though I’m crazy.

‘Philippa Helens. She died on the underground. She jumped under a train. You were out with her the afternoon she died.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

My mind is whirring. Was she his girlfriend? Had he been to her birthday celebrations that day? She was young and pretty, not quite thirty; I am forty-eight with a huge birthmark. If she was his last romantic interest before me, then why me next?

‘You knew Philippa Helens. Was she your girlfriend?’

‘Hey, mate! I’ve got your change here.’ It’s the bulldog, from the corner of the stall. Salvi wanders over to him, looking as unconcerned as I’ve ever seen him. He’s always like that, isn’t he? Unconcerned. So unconcerned he didn’t care his girlfriend went under a train, if she was that. Maybe she was just a friend. Something is nagging at me at the edges of my brain. Something that connects us. Me and Philippa.

‘I’m going, mate!’ Dino calls out to Salvi. He obviously doesn’t like where this conversation is going. ‘See you around. Look out for my post on the club later,’ he adds, with a wink. ‘I got nice and close.’

‘All right, mate,’ Salvi calls back, but there’s a warning look in his eyes, directed at his friend. Post on the club. Nice and close. What does that mean? And if he means The Profilo Club – that card I found – why would Dino be a member? He’s not Italian or a professional. What kind of a club actually is it?