Of course I eventually discovered what she’d been carrying round with her, the years of abuse she’d suffered at the hands of a man who’d been tasked with protecting her, her foster father. It was a discovery that led me on a path to doing something I’d never have believed I was capable of. But I’ve heard it said love can be like a kind of sickness, one which can take over your mind, make you do things you’d never otherwise have thought of. In a way I can believe that now. It was like a fever, my efforts to do what was best for Tanya, trying to protect her from further harm, made me neutralize a threat who turned out to be Station Chief Smit.

Fevers break, though, and the very moment when I pulled the trigger to protect Tanya it was like I’d not only killed Henk Smit, I’d killed hope as well. Everything we’d had shattered into so many pieces it wasn’t even worth trying to fix.

And all the while the black wolf ate in the shadows gathering strength.

‘Cliché I know, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Man, how long have I been gone?

‘I … yeah. Something like that.’

‘You’re not about to have one of those PTSD fits, are you?’ she says, sitting down.

‘They’re not fits.’

‘No? I saw you when you lost it after that guy didn’t turn up. Looked like some kind of fit to me.’

The waitress brings our drinks. She puts down the bottle for me, and in front of Vermeer places a clear cocktail in a martini glass with rose petals scattered on the surface, and one in a shot glass which is virtually black. Vermeer chooses the martini glass and raises it.

‘Proost.’

‘Proost.’

I take a sip, Vermeer takes a couple. Her shoulders drop a little and she sighs as she puts the glass on the table.

‘So?’

‘So … I actually don’t know what they are, but they’re not fits. And I’m not just about to have one.’

‘Your face said otherwise.’

My face. That traitor. Always the same.

‘Just thinking,’ I tell her, taking a sip of Coke to help me along.

‘About?’

‘The past, what else?’

‘The past? I thought you were supposed to live each day like it’s your last. Isn’t that what they say?’

‘Yeah, and it’s terrible advice. You do that and you’re constantly under pressure, to get things done, get more, squeeze it all in.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘Live each day like you’re going to live forever. That way you can just relax into whatever you’re doing, without worrying that you should be doing something else, like you’re missing out on something.’

‘That’s what you do?’

‘Well, turns out it’s easier said than done …’