Ten minutes later we were singing ‘If It Makes You Happy’ by Sheryl Crow at the top of our voices, the trees on one side of the road getting denser and denser, the ocean sprawling out alongside us on the other. Patrick was a good driver, slow and steady: we were in no rush. It was basically one straight road we were on, and I loved how the wind rushed through my hair, the sun bright on my face. When the music stopped and nothing else played, we plunged into the contented silence we’d been practising already.

‘If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad,’ Patrick said, repeating the lyrics of the song to me. He stole a look quickly, but just as fast turned his eyes back to the road. What was that supposed to mean? I didn’t say anything, looking out the passenger window at the landscape whizzing by. It hit me all over again that Carol had been found and I let the relief flood my system. I’d have to get Mum and Dad’s neighbours something to say thank you for finding her. Patrick started to tap out a beat on the steering wheel, and I admired his beautiful hands for the twentieth time.

‘You could play the piano with those hands,’ I observed, and he smiled at me.

‘I do,’ he replied. ‘Grade eight. I’m pretty good, actually.’

For God’s sake. Volunteering. Working out. Sorting out distressed little sisters. And now piano. Was there nothing this man couldn’t do?

It was green and lush in the town the sat nav delivered us to, littered with small white wooden buildings with pointy roofs, cute and idyllic, and much less built up and urban than the city.

‘I’m starving,’ I volunteered as we slowed down to get the lay of the land. ‘Can we eat?’

‘You read my mind,’ Patrick agreed. ‘Let’s park up and see where our noses lead us.’

We climbed out and headed off.

‘It’s really cool that you do that,’ I said. I was shy saying it, but I wanted him to know I’d noticed.

‘Do what?’

‘That you trust everything’s cool. That it will all work out. Even just parking up and saying we should follow our noses. It’s spontaneous, but not reckless. I’m learning from you.’

He nudged his shoulder up against mine, something I noticed he did whenever he was trying to connect or reassure me.

‘There’s not much I can teach you,’ he replied. ‘And I mean that.’

We approached a little quaint café in a market square, with tables and chairs scattered outside and views of the central town hall. We didn’t even say out loud that it was where we would settle – we just instinctively headed towards it and pulled up a chair each.

Patrick closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun.

‘Heaven,’ he said.