I’d thought about it for a moment, asking myself the same question. Why did I feel compelled to cross the line of duty?

I guess the answer is right in front of me now. Jacob’s brow is less furrowed and his eyes brighter than I’ve seen them before. There’s a semblance of hope there that no matter how long I’d listened to him for, he would never have been able to muster, all the time he was going back to a woman who kicked and scratched him for not having her dinner ready on time.

‘So how are you feeling?’ I ask, as I go to the cabinet drawer where I know surnames beginning with M are kept.

Jacob sighs contentedly. ‘I can’t even begin to tell you,’ he says. ‘It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. That crushing feeling that I felt constantly has all but gone.’

I’m trying to listen to him and smile, as if encouraging him to go on, but my mind is becoming entrenched in doubt and confusion. My fingers work deftly as they swipe the files back and forth, looking for the one between Langley and Mulville that I know to be here – well, at least it was a couple of days ago. Because I’d seen it – with my own two eyes – when I’d taken Melanie Langley’s folder out and briefly found myself wondering how Jacob Mackenzie, the man whose life was enclosed in the next manila foolscap, was doing, since leaving the wife he’d become enslaved to.

I look and look again, but it’s not here.

‘I . . . can’t seem to find your file,’ I say.

Jacob laughs. ‘I think you know me well enough not to need my file any more.’

‘You’re probably right,’ I say, as I sit down on the high-backed leather chair opposite him. I reach for my bound notebook on the desk behind me, sighing at not being able to spot a pen.

‘Here,’ says Jacob, handing me his from the front pocket of his shirt.

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking it from him. ‘I’m not quite as organized as I normally am this morning.’

‘It’s probably because I caught you off-guard with the bird,’ he says. ‘It’s my fault, sorry.’

I lean in and look at him. ‘Not everything is your fault,’ I say softly. ‘You don’t have to apologize whenever something doesn’t quite go to plan.’

He shrugs his shoulders forlornly. ‘It’s force of habit, I suppose.’

‘She spent a long time making you feel that way.’

‘It’s funny,’ he says, twiddling his thumbs. ‘But now that I’m out of it and with the wonderful benefit of hindsight, I can already see how messed up it all was.’

‘Why do you think it was so difficult to see when you were still together?’ I ask.