‘Thanks, Cooper.’ Oli doesn’t wait for his reply; she simply steers Miles to an empty table furthest from the counter and sits opposite him.

She knows he’s thirty-one, but he looks younger, with smooth, unblemished skin and dark hair without a hint of grey. He wears a cardigan and a pen in his shirt pocket that might or might not be ironic. He shifts nervously, putting pressure on his forearms then off again.

‘Are you okay, Miles?’

‘Yeah.’ He lurches forward and looks at her earnestly. Looks away. ‘Sort of. It’s just, I’ve spent ten years trying to forget all this, and now it’s … back.’ He laughs bitterly.

‘I imagine that’s quite hard.’

‘I have a wife and a kid, and someone with a camera was waiting outside our house this morning. My wife completely freaked out. She’s not used to it like I am—or like I was, anyway.’

‘I don’t think this will be like last time. Stories die more quickly these days.’

Miles nods. ‘I hope so. I don’t think I can go through that again.’

Cooper rejoins them, sitting next to Miles and ignoring Oli. ‘Drinks are on their way.’

‘Thanks,’ murmurs Miles. His hands drift to his cheeks, where he holds them for a second.

‘So, Miles,’ Oli prompts.

‘Christ,’ he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Alright. The thing is, I didn’t exactly tell the truth back then.’

As Oli watches him, anticipation fires in her belly. The waitress arrives at their table, and they exist through a few excruciating moments while she extracts the drinks from her grip and arranges them.

‘What do you mean, Miles?’ presses Oli, once they’re alone again.

‘There were things I saw … there’s stuff I know.’ His jaw wobbles. ‘Things that happened that I didn’t tell anyone about.’ Flecks of dandruff are visible in his sharply combed part, which Oli has a prime view of now that he has dropped his face into his hands.

She waits for him to talk, sensing this conversation is ten years in the making. She glances at Cooper, whose lips are wrapped around the straw of a drink that looks revolting, some kind of brown goop. ‘We’re not here to judge,’ he says. ‘We’re here to listen.’

It’s a corny line, but it seems to work. Miles looks back up and lets out a strange little laugh. His eyes have a slightly hysterical glint, unable to focus on any one thing. He toys with the salt shaker, picking it up and putting it down. ‘I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.’ He laughs again. ‘I really don’t. But my wife said I should get it off my chest, and I guess I feel like I owe it to Alex.’ He leans forward, and says to Cooper, ‘I told you, she called me. Last week.’

Oli leans forward too. ‘You spoke to her?’