He’d prepared a meal the previous night, but he needn’t have bothered. Roast chicken and sweet potato mash. By the time they’d emerged from his bedroom, the chicken was black and the potatoes had ruined his good pan. They’d ordered takeaway and eaten greasy pizza and garlic bread in the living room instead.

That had happened a fair few times. A couple of months of dates, nights spent together here and there.

He wasn’t sure if she was as serious as he was, but he hoped so. It was yet another thing they hadn’t really discussed.

‘I’m busy later, by the way,’ Natasha said, grabbing her remaining shoe and slipping it on. ‘But I’ll let you know if I can get round after. Never mind if you don’t want to,’ she said, standing up, a mobile phone disappearing into the side pocket of a small backpack. ‘Just thought why spend days apart at this point? It’s not like we’re having a bad time together, right?’

‘Of course,’ Mark said, a little too quickly. He took a breath before it slipped away. ‘I mean, you’re welcome to come round any time you like.’

Natasha smiled at him and he suddenly felt his stomach lurch a little.

‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘No… I mean, there isn’t… no.’

‘Of course not,’ she replied, but she rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. She looked away and he stepped back as she slipped past him. He followed her downstairs, trying to think of a good closing line, but was distracted by an insistent buzzing from the phone in his pocket.

‘I’ll call you,’ Mark said, holding the front door open for her, as she stopped and waited there.

‘You best had,’ Natasha replied, then kissed him for a fleeting few seconds before skipping away up the path. She didn’t turn round to wave. He watched her walk away until she was out of sight.

His phone buzzed again as he closed the door finally. He took it out, checking the screen and swearing silently under his breath. ‘Mark Flynn,’ he answered.

‘Mark, got something for you. Have you got a pen?’

His shoulders slumped a little, as reality came back inch by inch.

The job.

‘Go ahead,’ he said, already placing his feet into the polished brown shoes left by the door the night before. A clean jacket was hanging close by and he slipped it over his shirt and tie, even as Detective Inspector Angela Bennett continued to talk into his ear.

‘Blood discovered.’

‘What?’ he replied, wishing he hadn’t answered the phone. That he’d missed the call again and she could have handed it to someone else. Like that would have made a difference. ‘I’m not following you.’