Connie was already regretting her decision to accept Tessa’s kind offer to stay – which she’d secured late last night. Being alone, having some time to gather her strewn thoughts, seemed all she was capable of right now. But she couldn’t stay here another night, and fancier places would have concomitant prices attached.

She was dreading her friend’s unspoken censure. Tessa was no prude, and she’d never known her to be judgemental, but she’d recently buried a beloved husband of thirty-plus years. Connie had thrown hers away with a piece of spectacular indulgence.

There was no message from Devan – she’d expected none. No further message from Caitlin – the last one saying, Just checking in, Mum. Nothing important. Speak soon. Connie knew she would have to call her today and her heart contracted.

Nothing from Jared either, although he never contacted her … until he was outside her bedroom door. She blanched at the thought that there was even the remotest chance he might be out there now. He’s gone, running scared, like Devan said, she told herself firmly, experiencing through her cautious relief a twinge of sadness, nonetheless, for a man who felt the need to behave in this peculiarly destructive way. She was confident there was no chance he could find her there, or at Tessa’s, anyway. Although she didn’t feel she could relax yet. Not until there was proof that the gremlin was finally off her shoulder.

The only message on her phone was from dear Neil: Ring me, darling. Need to know you’re OK. She texted back: I’m fine-ish. Thanks for asking♥

Connie found a little café on the corner of one of the streets leading away from Hyde Park. Perched on a high stool at the window counter, the seats beside her empty at that hour, she savoured her first sip of hot coffee and watched people hurrying past on their way to work. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, but the seeded roll filled generously with thick slices of buttery bacon proved too much for her after the first bite.

Tessa was expecting her late morning. As she brought up the TfL map on her phone to plan her route to Hampstead, a call came in. Caty. Connie held her breath, glancing around the café, the mobile still buzzing in her palm. A small queue of people stood waiting to be served at the counter, but no one was paying her any attention, the café noisy with the coffee machine and breakfast radio, banter from the two women making up the orders.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she said dully.