Hi Bex, just picked up your message. All good. Kate sleeping in the flat. Think the journey wiped her out! Sure she’ll call you tomorrow. R x

‘When do you think it was sent?’ Jake asks, putting the phone back in the dock. ‘Before Kate rang?’

‘Could have been any time tonight – iMessages seem to turn up when they want on my phone.’

‘Before she rang us?’

‘I don’t know.’ Bex glances at a road sign that looms up in the darkness outside. ‘I’m coming off at the next junction, unless you’ve got any better ideas?’

Jake thinks again about Kate’s voice on the phone. They don’t know exactly where Rob lives, that’s their problem. He’s never been able to find an address for Rob other than the house in Cornwall, where every one of his business interests seems to be registered. He suddenly despairs at the thought of driving around Shoreditch all night.

‘You’re right,’ he says.

But he doesn’t feel comfortable at the thought of abandoning Kate. To distract himself, he starts to skim through the various settings on the touchscreen. He hears Kate’s voice again, her worried tone. And he’s haunted by the thought that Rob might not have met her by chance at the hospital.

‘Does Rob know his car’s not in Cornwall?’ he asks, still fiddling with the screen. It’s bigger than his old TV on the boat.

Bex glances across at him and then the screen. ‘How could he?’ she asks.

‘This thing’s a computer on wheels, Bex. And there’s a feature here called “Tracking”.’ He opens up a new window on the screen. ‘I’m guessing it all works off an app on Rob’s phone.’

‘Shit, really?’ Bex throws him a nervous look.

They drive on in silence, the Berkshire countryside slipping past them in the darkness. Jake hasn’t been this fast in a car for a long time. Another sign says that the next junction is in half a mile.

‘Thanks for letting me stay in your house,’ he says after a while.

‘Glad I could help. Not every day your boat’s gutted by fire.’

The arson attack seems a long time ago already.

Bex starts to tap her fingers on the steering wheel, as if she’s suddenly nervous. ‘Your beard’s nice by the way,’ she says. ‘Much better trimmed.’

‘Thanks.’ It’s the first compliment Bex has ever paid him. He hopes Kate liked it too. Noticed he’s making an effort with his appearance. She always hated his hands, but he hasn’t been able to do much about them. The oil stains seem to be ingrained, impervious to brushing.

‘You’ll blend in right well in Shoreditch,’ she adds.