‘I’m okay,’ said Irene a little breathlessly. ‘Maybe you could get me a glass of water, if you could be so kind?’

The man hesitated and then disappeared out the door, leaving her relieved and alone. She made herself stuff a pair of pyjamas and a T-shirt into the case, then pulled out the T-shirt and held it to her nose. It smelled a bit musty and didn’t especially make her feel close to her son. Tears were spilling down her cheeks again and she got to her feet, in an attempt to wrest control of herself.

She walked over to the desk where there was a plastic folder, with paper inside. She looked closer and then felt confusion and exhaustion fogging her brain. What did this mean?

Inside the plastic wallet was a sheet of paper – a type of printed form, as far as she could tell. Its heading said ‘Expert Detection Services’ and there were headings like, ‘Scope of works’ and ‘Findings’. It all seemed to be biographical details about a person called Anastasia Ryland; not a name Irene had ever heard before. It listed her height and weight, her eye colour.

Was it some sort of missing persons report? No … Irene understood in a rush that it was something else. It looked like Michael had been trying to find this person.

There was no other information other than details about where she lived – in Casterbourne – and worked – in London, for a company who could have done anything at all, as far as Irene could tell.

It was all very odd.

For a moment it felt as though this really would all be too much for her and she steadied herself with a hand against the table, while she tried to take some deep breaths. There was no one else to do this. Whatever had been going on in Michael’s life, he had been trying to work something out, hence this strange mission to the seaside.

She heard someone coming and turned, heart beating and feeling unaccountably guilty. The man came back into the room bearing a small glass of water and a worried expression.

‘Here is your water,’ he said. ‘Are you all done?’

‘Yes, and thank you,’ she said, taking the glass and sipping from it. The water tasted much more chlorinated here than she was used to, but as he made no move to take the glass back she felt forced to drink it all, knowing it was going to go straight to her bladder.