Simon only realised they were all waiting for him to speak once the silence had lasted for nearly ten seconds. He was fuming. How could Charlie have done what she did and not realise the effect it’d have on him? Here he was, supposed to be concentrating on an important negotiation and all he could think about was how she’d let him down. Did she not know him or understand him at all?

Concentrate, idiot. On Billy. You’re on thin ice here.

Simon had rung up the lab first thing to chase the verdict on the many DNA samples taken. He’d been given an answer – one he hadn’t yet shared with the team, because it wasn’t an answer that ought to satisfy anyone. Without understanding why, what was the point of knowing who? No one but him and Billy Dead Mates understood why, even though it was staring them all in the face.

Idiots.

Simon knew he was wrong to think this way, wrong to keep quiet about the DNA results, wrong to be angry with Charlie. His desire to punish, indiscriminately, probably wouldn’t have swelled to such a dangerous level today if she’d only kept her overly hospitable mouth shut when James Wing had rung this morning. ‘You don’t need to stay in a hotel if you don’t want to,’ she’d said to Wing, having answered Simon’s phone while he was in the shower. ‘Why don’t you crash on our sofa? We’d love to have you to stay. Yes, really – as long as you don’t mind the house looking like a squat.’

The prospect of trying to sleep – the night before one of the most important mornings of his working life, in case Charlie had forgotten – with a virtual stranger ‘crashing’ on his sofa, as she’d put it, made Simon want to punch something or someone: ideally a punchbag with a drawing of Proust’s face on it, priggish, whiny fucker that he was. Simon came from a family in which such a thing was unheard of. His parents had never had guests overnight, not even family, and the idea of someone in your living room while you were asleep, perhaps staying awake later than you, watching your TV while you slept …

The reasonable part of Simon’s brain knew Charlie had meant well. ‘You and Wing are getting friendly – I thought this would help!’ she’d said. ‘You can have a drink and a bit of a laugh. It’s a nice gesture, inviting him here. It won’t kill you to behave like a normal human being for one evening and night, Simon!’