But she’d brushed away his concerns, her gut telling her that Emily was who she said she was, that meeting her today would be the first step to reuniting Rose and Oliver with their daughter, a thought too exciting to risk by going back on the promise she’d made. ‘I said I’d go alone,’ she’d told Mac stubbornly, ‘so that’s what I’m going to do.’ Besides, the person who’d sent the messages had known about the song Luke and Emily had sung at bedtime, they knew about the T.S. Eliot book. It had to be her. So she’d left Mac waiting at his flat, beside himself with worry, promising she’d call him as soon as she could.

Clara paused a few metres from the bar now and pretended to check her phone before glancing up and down the street. It was ten to six, the pavements fairly busy with office and shop workers beginning their journeys home. She felt a stab of fear now that she was so close and for a moment contemplated turning back. Just then, a burst of evening sunlight penetrated the clouds and the passers-by lifted pleased, surprised faces to the sky. Surely nothing bad could happen here, in such a public place?

Encouraged, she walked on and when she entered the bar was relieved to see that at least half the tables were already taken. There was a low buzz of music and conversation in the air and the barman smiled cheerfully at her as she approached. Her body tensed with anticipation and nerves, she scanned the room. There were no lone drinkers, male or female, and she relaxed a little, glad that out of the two of them it was she who had arrived first.

When she’d bought her drink she chose a seat that gave her a good view of the street – close enough to the large plate-glass window to be able to see people as they approached. The minutes passed slowly. Six o’clock became six fifteen, then twenty past. Restlessly she glanced around. It was a nice place, simply decked out without any of the self-consciously hip touches so many bars in the area were afflicted by: no ironic taxidermy on the wall, no neon flamingos, or jam jars used as cocktail glasses. Just an ordinary bar with an unpretentious, after-work crowd. She settled back into her seat and continued to wait, her eyes fixed on the door.