Later that night, I went out to get a sandwich from Marks & Spencer. When I got back I found a note from Lisa slid under my door. It said: ‘Meet me in Ha Ha’s at ten. Don’t call, I’ve changed my number.’

I put on my overcoat against the wind. The storm drains were clogged with dead leaves and water pooled by the kerb. The wet cobblestones glistened dark and slick in the light of the lamps. When I pushed open the heavy glass door of the bar, Lisa was sitting reading the papers just inside the entrance. She was no longer wearing the suit, but had changed back into a velour tracksuit top and baggy pale blue trousers, her Puffa jacket slung over the back of the chair. I did not dare read this as a good omen, but I found her less intimidating. She had a backpack at her feet. She did not have a drink in front of her. I wasn’t quite sure where we stood following our earlier meeting, but I thought it was better to decide we were still friends.

‘Would you like something?’ I said, indicating the bar with my hand.

‘No thanks. Sit down, this won’t take long.’

I sat down beside her, and she tossed the paper back on the chrome rack. The door opened behind me, engulfing me in a blast of freezing air.

‘You can have the money,’ she said. She was looking me straight in the eyes, and I was aware that some kind of response was required. I rose awkwardly to try and thank her, mumbling my gratitude, not really feeling anything beyond surprise. She waved me back into my seat, a look of impatience stealing across her face. ‘You can have the money, but I ain’t doing you a favour. I want something for my million. I don’t ever want to see you, or Francis, or Jessica again. I never want to speak to any of you again. I’ve changed my phone, and I’m moving rooms. If you accept this deal, and take the money, I’ll take a nod in the street as a breach of contract. If you breach, I will get the money back from you personally. That’s a fact, not a threat. I’ve had a chat with Augustus White. He’s been keeping one eye on you, and we’ve come up with a story you can tell the police if you get unlucky. I’m not in it, and neither’s he. He’s taken a personal interest in my future, and if you break this deal he’ll make it his business.’

She removed a black file from her bag and slid it across the table, her palm and fingers flat against the binding. ‘It’s got dates, times, where you put the money etc. You sold the picture anonymously over the internet; you never met the buyer. Learn it and burn it. You get me?’

Part of me could not believe that Lisa was serious. Part of me knew she was. Her face was completely blank, her tone neutral, but I could see that her fingertips and knuckles had gone white with pressure where she pinned the file down on the chrome tabletop. In the throng of alien emotions, I caught sight of a familiar one – I recognized admiration for her. She was doing what Jessica and I could not, and doing it well. She was cutting her losses. Then I lost sight of it, and the whole crowd overwhelmed me, trampling me underfoot. I felt exhaustion engulf me in a wave of indifference.