She was wearing an inconspicuous long navy raincoat, comfortable trousers, her wide-brimmed hat, and her house trainers. She tended not to go out in sports shoes, but they did allow you to tread so quietly and walk so freely, and stealth and freedom were what mattered to her on this journey. At the corner of the road she waited patiently for the bus that would take her into central London – she simply hated the Tube, the pushing and the shoving, the blind claustrophobia of it all. Much better to be able to see where you’re going. She calmly showed the bus driver her over-sixties pass, climbing the step with the aid of her walking stick, which she didn’t actually need but liked because it helped her to go faster. She enjoyed stamping it firmly on the ground, to really make sure that the floor was solid. There was strength enough in her arms to give it a good testing. And today it was helping a bit with her sore knee. She ignored the pensioner seats and made her way to an empty pair halfway along the lower level. The morning light was streaming through the windows. She wondered if she should put on her sunglasses, but she had a feeling that might make her conspicuous rather than furtive. A step too far, perhaps.

Freida had written to her a few times over the years. Never with a return address. Never with an invite to visit. When the first letter arrived, six months after Freida had gone away, Holly ripped open the envelope with relief that at last her friend was going to explain. But she didn’t. She just waffled on about needing to be alone and what a pleasure it was to be away from London – from Holly’s home! I hope you are well, she wrote, and I’m sure you’re all better off without me. The neediness itself was enough to annoy Holly. The self-pity! But most of all she had hurt Holly’s feelings. So Holly had shut them away and lived her life, and loved her family, and never gone looking.

But now, she was headed to the offices of the news website that had sent Piotr Filipek to her door. She’d walk in and claim Piotr had invited her. She was an old lady – they had to believe what she said. At the very least, they’d have to produce him, even if just to prove she had no appointment at all. Then she’d insist that he help her find Freida. She’d seen that look on his face during the interview. He knew something, that was for sure, and if her suspicions were correct he had a pretty good idea where she was hiding. Once they found her, she’d demand that Freida tell her everything she knew – starting with why she left, and ending with exactly what was wrong with the pouches.