Jake sits back, his mouth drying, and picks up the package again, checking inside in case he’s missed anything. Empty. Whoever sent it has spotted something that they want Jake to see too. Why now, six months later?

He gets up from his desk and glances at his watch. It’s too early for a beer, even on a Saturday. Not that he’s got any. All there is to drink is his kombucha, fermenting in the corner. He puts on the kettle, trying to order his thoughts.

Valentine’s Day is a date he’ll never forget. Kate was working late, a relief as he hadn’t planned anything romantic. When his phone rang, he thought she might be calling to suggest they meet for last orders. Instead, she accused him of cheating on her. As part of her job, she’d been trawling through hours of recent CCTV footage and by chance had spotted Jake with another woman in a shopping mall. It was a cruel twist of fate and Jake never got the chance to explain.

An hour later, Kate crashed her Morris Minor Traveller on her way home. He’s always thought it was an accident.

He doesn’t now.

9

Kate

After Ajay has gone, Kate settles down at the easel, determined to finish the painting of Stretch – less pig, more dog. The results of the recognition tests were encouraging, giving her hope that her painting skills will return too. Stretch, though, has other ideas and won’t lie still. He’s almost six months old and already likes a thirty-minute walk every day.

‘You win,’ she says as he trots off out of the kitchen towards the back of the house. She watches him for a second and wonders where he’s going. He doesn’t usually disappear out of her sight. She gets up, paintbrush still in hand, and is about to follow him when she pauses at the fridge. She bought some Cornish Yarg yesterday, thick and creamy. She pulls on the fridge handle, but it doesn’t open. She tries again without success.

‘Rob, the fridge won’t open,’ she says a moment later, talking to him on the phone. She’s a lot calmer now than she was a few hours ago. He’s still on the train to London.

‘Sorry, it must still be in diet mode. Stops you snacking between meals.’

‘But I’m not on a diet.’ Sometimes she despairs of this house, Rob’s love of so-called smart technology.

‘I am,’ he says. ‘And it thought I was down for the whole weekend. Try now.’

‘Thanks.’ She shakes her head in disbelief. The fridge door opens. Rob controls everything in his life from an app. Everything except her.

‘You OK?’ he asks. ‘No more migraines?’

‘Hungry.’

‘How was it with Dr Varma?’

‘He did some tests, thinks my brain is recovering.’