Ten minutes later, she’s sitting in Bex’s kitchen, a stray cat at her feet, waiting for Jake to come through from the other room. It’s strange seeing him in Bex’s home. She used to spend hours here, with Bex, complaining about him and their failing relationship.

On the walk up from the canal she told him that she’d seen someone who might be DI Hart’s missing son, but she didn’t go into details. They also talked about the dead man in Cornwall and who might have killed him. He seems to agree with DI Hart that it’s drug-related, internecine rivalry. She’d forgotten that gang crime used to be his journalism beat, before he chucked it all in to write books.

‘I rinsed it as best I could, but it’ll need a proper wash,’ Jake says, coming back into the kitchen with an old orange dress of hers. He used to like her wearing it; one reason she left it behind.

‘It stinks of diesel.’ She sniffs the material. The smell takes her back. All her clothes used to smell. ‘Thank you – for rescuing it.’

‘You need to ring Rob,’ Jake says, trying to sound casual as he pours the tea. ‘Tell him you’re running late.’

‘I will.’ She casts an eye over Jake as he fetches the milk from the fridge. He’s lost weight and his hair is neat at the sides, like it was when they first met. Even his clothes are smarter than she remembers. Making an effort but not for her. He didn’t know she was coming. She hopes there’s someone new in his life.

‘You liked him, when you met at the hospital,’ she says. ‘The real Rob.’

‘“Like” might be putting it a bit strongly.’ He sits down opposite her.

His beard’s trim too. She’s pleased for him. Only his eyes look tired. Maybe some good will come out of the boat fire, force him into new things, a better life. She’s not sure he’s ever fully accepted that their relationship is over.

‘Rob’s a decent man,’ she says, for her own benefit as much as his. ‘Kind and generous.’

Jake bends down to stroke the cat. He’s kind and generous too, but it wasn’t enough in the end.

‘I just don’t know what’s happened to that person,’ she adds. ‘Where he’s gone.’

She’s determined not to cry, particularly in front of Jake.

‘It’s pretty hard to impersonate someone, you know,’ he says, straightening up and resting his hands on hers on the table between them. ‘You can’t just take over another person’s life, assume their identity and carry on as if nothing’s happened. It’s not that easy. Almost impossible, unless perhaps you’re an identical twin. And he hasn’t got one of those, has he.’