It’s almost impossible to find a parking space near the Bristol School of Art so I park at Trenchard Street car park and walk from there. Maybe Kira is the wrong person to talk to about Jake. Perhaps I should talk to a doctor instead. I watched as Liz slipped into a depression after Lloyd left her in January and I can see the same symptoms in Jake. He’s irritable, he’s got no energy, he doesn’t show any interest in the things he used to enjoy and he spends all his time in his room. But antidepressants take weeks to kick in and he’ll get worse if he loses his job too. He was so proud when he was offered his apprenticeship, so full of dreams about starting up his own business and getting a place for him and Kira. She knows him better than any of us. If anyone can talk him into ringing his boss, she can.

I glance at my watch as I approach the large brown front door of the Bristol School of Art: 1.03 p.m. It’s Monday, Kira’s favourite day of the week because she only has a half-day.

Student after student files out of the building. None of them pays me, a frazzled-looking woman in her early forties in a pair of skinny jeans and a white shirt, the slightest bit of attention. As the crowd starts to thin so does my hope of running into Kira. What if she’s decided to stay to work on her project?

I jump back as a lorry thunders down the road, its huge wheels splashing through last night’s rainfall, and a flash of pink catches the corner of my eye.

‘Kira!’ I speed after her as she hurries down towards the Triangle. ‘Kira, hang on a sec. I need to talk to you.’

She stops in her tracks and turns slowly, weighed down by the camera bag over her shoulder and the large, black portfolio dangling from her right hand.

‘Claire?’ She looks shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I need to talk to you about Jake. Could we grab a coffee?’

Kira pours hot water into the stainless-steel teapot, then dips a spoon into it and stirs. Her cheeks flush when she realises I’m watching her.

‘I love vintage stuff like this. I would have loved to have been alive in the forties or fifties. Life was so glamorous back then.’ She closes the lid of the teapot. ‘Is Jake okay?’

I take a sip of my coffee. It’s piping hot and I burn my lips. ‘Has he said anything to you, about what DS Forbes told us?’

‘Not really. But I know he’s angry. He feels guilty too.’

‘Guilty? Why?’

‘He thinks he should have protected Billy. He thinks he’s dead because of him.’

‘He thinks Billy is dead?’