Clara was still thinking about Tom when Mac called to say he was on his way over. She stood at the window while she waited, recalling the unsettling intensity of Tom’s gaze, the peculiar texture of the air between them as they’d stood together in the hall. Try as she might, she couldn’t work him out. He was such a strange mixture of contradictions. At times during his visit she’d seen flashes of sympathy in his eyes, yet there remained that strange reserve, the feeling that he was scrutinizing her intently. Mac had mentioned him going off the rails in his teens, but she couldn’t imagine him ever losing control, of him ever being vulnerable or lost. And then there was the distance he kept between himself and his parents, an ambivalence towards them that bordered on disdain, which had always seemed especially cruel after they’d suffered so much already. On the other hand, he’d cared enough about Clara to travel some distance to see her, to check that she was all right. It was all entirely baffling.

Beyond her window the sky hung tepid and sallow over Hoxton Square. She watched as a group of achingly hip twentysomethings appeared at its furthest corner, on a wave of energy and laughter. They passed an elderly man, his chin nearly on his chest, edging with painful slowness along the pavement, a blue plastic bag dangling from his fingers, until at last he crept off down a side street to be swallowed by the council estate that lay beyond view of the square’s bustling restaurants and bars.

She turned and considered her flat, its disorder reminding her of the day she and Luke had moved in – the excitement they’d felt as they’d unpacked their belongings and talked about the housewarming party they were planning that weekend. She remembered how happy she’d felt at the prospect of their living together, of waking up every morning next to him.

Her gaze travelled now over their ransacked belongings: the stuff they’d chosen together when they’d first moved in, gathering bits and pieces from markets and junk shops, slowly and lovingly transforming the small, modern, white-walled space into somewhere that felt more like home to her than anywhere she’d lived before.

She was dragged from her thoughts by the intercom’s buzzer. A few minutes later Mac looked around himself in dismay as he stood amidst the chaos of her flat. ‘What did the police say?’ he asked. ‘I mean, they must think this is linked to Luke’s disappearance, right?’

‘They’re not commenting either way. Maybe whoever it was … I don’t know, but it seems to me they were looking for something.’