Is it Rob? She needs to be brave, sort this once and for all. Feeling dizzy, she forces herself to kneel down beside his sleeping body. Her scalp begins to tingle as she looks at his legs first, tucked up towards his smooth, flat stomach, and then his chest, his bony shoulders, his long arms. Taking a hand in hers, she feels his fingers one by one, so clean and delicate, and rubs them gently. His breathing is steady, uninterrupted. And then she summons the courage to look at the full lips she has kissed, the curve of his resting eyelids, the hollow of his cheeks, careful to study each feature individually rather than look at the whole face, as she’s been trained to do. She reaches out, touches his hair. Is this the man she loves? He stirs a little. Has he heard her thumping heart? The voice in her head? Leaning forwards, she moves her mouth close to his ear. ‘Je sais qui tu es,’ she whispers. ‘Et je sais pourquoi tu es venu ici.’ She knows who he is – and why he’s come here.

Rob’s blue eyes flash open. They stare at each other, his face a picture of pure shock. It’s not Rob. She gets up and starts to back away, one hand to her mouth, telling herself it’s all in her mind, that Rob’s had French lessons, that it was his voice tonight, that she’s suffering from Capgras syndrome. But it’s no good. He was to her right, she can’t deny it. She doesn’t have Capgras. When she’s out of the door, she runs to the bathroom and throws up just as she reaches the loo. Tears stream down her face as she retches and retches again. Every sense in her body told her it was Rob who came tonight. Every sense except her sight, her trusted eyes, and she did her best to stop them from ruining things.

She so wanted to believe it was him, to prove to herself that she hasn’t been going mad. Now, though, it seems she’s wrong. The man in the bedroom is a stranger. The smoke has returned, swirling and choking. Should she go back into the bedroom and challenge him again? Ask him straight out if he’s his doppelgänger, Gil from Thailand, here to take over Rob’s life, this apartment, her?

‘Kate, are you alright?’

Rob’s voice, behind her. She clutches at the loo bowl for strength. Or is it to stop her hands shaking?

‘I’m OK,’ she says, her back still towards him. Please don’t come any closer. ‘Must have been something I ate,’ she adds.

‘Kate, I’m sorry, I hope it wasn’t the crayfish. It’s usually so good.’

‘I don’t think it was that,’ she says. ‘Maybe I just drank too much wine tonight.’

‘Can I get you anything?’ he asks.