‘Once a week, yes,’ I say impatiently, omitting to tell him that at Jacob’s request, it’s now going to be twice. ‘Are you sure you’ve not seen one of my folders? Might you have picked it up with your stuff?’

‘I’ll check, but I doubt it,’ he says. ‘Can it wait until the morning?’

No! I want to scream. I need to know now, so that I don’t spend the night fretting unnecessarily. At least if Leon has picked it up inadvertently, then my imagination only has an open door and a dead bird to work itself up over. But if Jacob’s folder is missing . . .? That ratchets the likelihood of it being something more ominous up a notch.

‘Yeah, sure,’ I say casually. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Will you be OK?’ he asks, leaning in to kiss me.

‘’Course,’ I say, though my stomach is tied up in knots. ‘Drive safely.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he says, with a tight smile.

I want to make myself a cup of coffee before my next client arrives, but I need to know if there are more files missing first. So I fill a jug with water and head back down the garden.

The promised sun is peeking through the clouds, and the buttercups that line the window boxes of my office shine a bright yellow, going some way to lifting my darkening mood.

But it doesn’t last long, as all five of the clients I randomly select have files matching their names, in perfect alphabetical order. I put Anna’s parchment-coloured folder on my desk, ready for our appointment, and try to force myself to remember what I might have done with Jacob’s.

‘Hey, how you doing?’ Anna’s head pops around the door, her familiar American accent instantly wrapping itself around me, making me feel closer to home, even though it’s not been home for a long time.

I’d recognized it as soon as she introduced herself at our first appointment and I immediately felt an affinity with her; an unseen tie that bound us together by our shared nostalgia for a time and place gone by. Though having been here for a little longer than I have, she’s definitely picked up more British traits; her vowels are softer than mine, her duty is dewty, whereas my duty is still dooty. Her dance is darnce, whereas mine is danse. I’d order the check where I’m sure she’d ask for the bill, and I most definitely still wear sneakers whilst she wears trainers.

I’d hazard a guess we’re about the same age, and just knowing that we’d walked the same streets, smelling the same smells and seeing the same sights, had taken me straight back there.