A toilet flushes and I remember that Tim and Cora are here. I lie back and pull the covers up over my head. Cora is an early riser, which means I’ll have to face her over breakfast. I wait for a few minutes then reluctantly get out of bed and head downstairs. She’s making coffee. I mumble a good morning and get a clean mug out of the dishwasher and drop a teabag into it, then I go upstairs to make sure Lottie is awake. Somehow or other, I choreograph the morning so that Cora and I spend limited time in the same space, and as soon as Hannah and Cassie have whisked Lottie off, I get myself ready and go out.

I finish up in Chelsea at twenty past ten, then jump on my Vespa and whizz into the City for my meeting with Alex Wells. I locate the Starbucks and go inside. It’s full of suited businessmen and women.

I don’t have a clue who this man is, let alone what he looks like, or his age. There are several tables taken up by single men working on their laptops, phones to their ears. The place is bustling and noisy. I look for someone watching the door, like me. The waiting makes me jumpy.

Nick doesn’t come, but I soon find a candidate for Alex Wells. The young man is holding a book, but not reading it, and is as interested in who’s coming through the door as I am. I approach with my coffee in my hand and hover near him until finally he glances up. Not recognizing me, he pretends to go back to his book.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Are you Alex Wells?’

This time he scrutinizes me. ‘Yup.’ His tone is evasive but curious at the same time.

‘My name’s Grace Trelawney. I’m Nick Ritchie’s girlfriend.’

‘Oh.’ He frowns in confusion. ‘He’s meant to be meeting me.’

‘I know, I saw your email. That was me who replied. Do you mind if I sit down?’

He looks bemused. ‘No, not at all.’

He dabs at a spill of coffee with a paper napkin. I take the seat opposite him, put my helmet on the floor beside me, and unzip my bike jacket.

‘Is Nick with you?’ He looks round at the counter, as if hoping to see him there.

‘No.’ I hesitate. ‘I don’t actually know where he is. I haven’t seen him since Saturday evening. I came to meet you because of your email. I hoped he would be here. I’m extremely worried about him. I thought maybe—’

‘I don’t know where he is.’ His response is as quick as a flash, and he already looks as though he wishes he could take it back. ‘I mean, I thought he would be here, but as you can see, he isn’t.’