My gaze moved to Satan’s (whoops, I mean Stan’s) empty desk then landed on my handbag. Sabine’s hard drive was still in there and I needed to send it back to her mother. It wasn’t fair to keep it. My stomach clenched as I imagined Mme Roux opening the envelope and reading the note, the expression on her face when she called the gallery to follow up on what had happened, and realised I’d lied to her.

Still, it needed to be done.

I went over to the stationery cupboard, pulled out a mid-sized envelope and went back to my desk, pulling out the drive – a flash of her mother’s eyes as she pressed it into my hands. I copied the address down on the front of the envelope in my best version of round schoolgirl cursive, so she couldn’t recognise my handwriting, even though there is no way in hell she’d be able to do that anyway. And I was just about to put the drive and the cord inside.

But something wouldn’t let me.

Maybe it was Harrison and the clawed feet of his new bath.

The need to make something of myself. Something that would mean he was wrong to have left me. That I was worth something too.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Wednesday and Noah had still not been arrested. I’d told the police about the video, told them about the white car, told them about how he ran after Sabine and why. How could they have not found anything at all? What the hell were they doing with their time? Maybe Stan was right and the police were lazy.

Or, maybe it was guilt. Because every time I glanced across at that hard drive, I’d think of Mme Roux, of the way her hand trembled as she lifted her coffee cup, the way grief clung to the air around her. It wasn’t fair.

I picked up the drive, glanced at the envelope and bit down on my lower lip. Maybe I could help move things along.

Because I knew what Noah had told me about the nature of his relationship with Sabine, but it wasn’t like he’d never lied to me before. What if there was something else on that drive to prove they were having an affair? Something else she might have eventually threatened to show Noah’s wife? Something to explain why she took that video of us in the first place.

Anything to show the police.

And the office was almost empty. I had the perfect opportunity.

So I reached for the cord and plugged it into my computer, attached my earbuds and started watching where I’d left off.

Fast forward half an hour and ten aimless Parisian street scenes, to the moment I clicked on a folder. It was named ‘Untitled Folder’ so my expectations were not particularly high going in.