Priest awoke with a headache that could have ended the world. The sound of morning commuters filled the room through the open window, although the curtains were still drawn and the light was artificial, emanating from a reading lamp next to the bed. He sat up tentatively and rubbed his forehead, trying to squeeze the pain out of his brain but it was still there when he let go.

His recollection of the night before filtered through his mind like the blurred images of an old projector. The recall of a turn was very much like trying to distinguish a vivid dream from a memory in the hazy lacuna between sleep and consciousness; the split second of time that passes just after waking, where it’s not clear what’s real and what isn’t.

Oh, bloody hell, what have I done this time?

Priest was the only occupant of the bedroom, but the sweet aroma of bacon wafted through from the kitchen. As the events of the previous night started to unfold in his head, a knot in his stomach tightened. He put on a pair of joggers and an old T-shirt and padded towards the smell of food. He thought at first that she might have come back and forgiven him and he would open the door in front of him and find Jessica in his kitchen, sitting at his breakfast bar with tea ready for him . . .

He opened the door, already knowing it wasn’t going to be like that.

Elinor Fox was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. She was busying herself over the hob with a frying pan, the one that he had salvaged from Dee’s house just before the divorce. The frying pan was special because it represented the only thing he had taken away from his first marriage, save for the legal fees and bad memories. Now someone whose intensity surpassed even his ex-wife’s had her hands around the handle.

Fuck.

She turned her head and looked at him, a deliberate and rehearsed move. Her hair was straight and didn’t look as though it had been affected by a night’s sleep or the rough sex that he now recalled she had enthusiastically participated in.

‘Good morning.’ She smiled and winked.

Lost for an appropriate salutation, Priest returned the smile weakly and took a seat at the breakfast bar behind her.

‘Bacon sandwich?’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I was going to make you a full fry-up but you didn’t have any eggs. Or sausage. Or mushrooms. Or anything other than bacon, really. How do you eat?’

Priest pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I get by mainly on protein drinks and Pot Noodle.’

‘Proper bachelor, aren’t you?’