She turned, feeling suddenly claustrophobic and hurried from the room to the brighter, airier kitchen. When her life returned to normal, she’d see about getting some shutters; now though, her priority was finding out where Victor was living. She checked the time and frowned. It was almost six. Too late to open that particular can of worms today. Anyway, perhaps it was something best done in person. She remembered the family liaison officer well, her name immediately coming to mind even after all these years of trying to forget. Emma Carlton. In Jodie’s memory, she’d been an old woman but to a fourteen-year-old, anyone over thirty was ancient. It was possible she’d only been in her twenties so she might still be working in some capacity. On Monday, Jodie would head to West Hampstead Police Station and find out.

Her anxiety had faded but she was restless and wished Flynn would get there. To keep herself busy, she unpacked the shopping and put the beer and wine in the fridge to chill. Looking around for something else to do, it crossed her mind that she should make some room for Flynn’s clothes. His holdall was sitting on the floor in the bedroom: if he were staying for a couple of days, his clothes couldn’t remain rolled up inside.

She lifted it onto the bed. Wouldn’t it be nice to surprise him by unpacking, maybe ironing shirts if there were more inside and making room in the drawers for his things? He’d been so kind to come and spend time with her and it wasn’t as if she were rewarding him with earth-shattering sex.

The thought brought a smile to her lips. Humming, she squashed the contents of the top drawer of her chest of drawers into the one below, then turned to unpack the holdall. It was tightly packed, the contents bouncing upward as soon as the zip was opened and spilling dark socks onto the bed. She picked them up and put them into the drawer, then quickly unpacked the rest. Boxer shorts, a couple of T-shirts and a pair of jeans were all folded neatly away. The two white shirts on the bottom she slipped onto hangers, frowning at the creases. It would only take a minute to run an iron over them. She kept her iron and ironing board in the spare bedroom and she was soon at work, the steam iron smoothing out every line. It would be nice if she could do the same with her life.