The bartender comes back to collect our empty glasses, a man in a grey coat pushes past me to get to the bar and I look back towards the door for Camilla. But I can’t see her – she must be outside.

There are two more shots sitting on the bar and I do one of them alone, then reach again for my own phone. That’s when I see it: a missed call. From a US number.

Noah.

My abdomen clenches: why is he calling? Did he see that first person account? Is he pissed because he thinks I went to the press? Or is it about the police? Is he worried I told them about that video? And why the fuck do I feel guilty?

I’m about to reach for the other shot, when a hand finds my arm and I swivel. It’s Camilla. She’s back. But her dark eyes are huge and her grip is tight. She leans into my ear and says loudly, ‘We have to leave.’

‘Sure,’ I say.

But she’s looking back at the direction she just came from, and her shoulders are hunched.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, putting on my leather jacket.

She’s shaking her head as though she doesn’t know whether to believe something or not.

‘There’s a guy out there,’ she says. ‘I want to show him to you.’

‘Okay,’ I say, as I grab my things and follow her through the crowd.

We’re outside now and the wind is cold against my cheeks. She’s looking left and right, scouring the street. And I’m not sure what she’s looking for because there are just a bunch of people wearing navy and black with tasteful tailoring and well-cut shiny hair.

‘There,’ she says, pointing.

I follow her finger. There’s a guy walking away from us.

‘The guy in the cap?’

‘Yeah,’ she says.

I take him in: he’s tall, broad shoulders. But soon he’s gone and I can’t really see anything else.

‘What about him?’

‘Harps, I know this sounds insane but I think he’s following you.’

My face crunches up into an expression that says: ‘What?’

‘I’ve seen him before. He was outside your flat when I arrived last night.’

I look back to her. All colour has drained from her face.

‘What did he look like?’ I ask. Maybe it’s one of the neighbours.

‘Tall, dark, beaky,’ she says. And I’m pretty sure this is just because of that article she read this morning, but she’s scared. Really scared.