I nod my head. Not only do I remember but I had been Mum’s accomplice on those explorations. I can see her now, dressed in Sunday casuals – loose linen trousers and her favourite blue-and-white Breton top – climbing up the rickety ladder into the loft. Once up there she would reach her hands down and haul me up to join her. ‘Now, Nessa, let’s see if we can find anything interesting, shall we?’ she’d say as she hunted through the dusty boxes. ‘It’s amazing what treasures are hidden in the home.’ I would invariably find an old Judy annual of Georgie’s or a sparkling bit of costume jewellery that I would insist on bringing downstairs. Mum would watch as I made my way unsteadily down the ladder then she would stay up there for the rest of the evening, hunting for treasure. She never found any though, no matter how hard she looked.

‘Look at this guy,’ says Jack, leaning back in his armchair. ‘Bought this contraption for ten quid in a charity shop in Thirsk and it’s just been valued at six grand.’

He points to the screen where a ginger-haired man is standing next to what looks like a rusty scythe.

‘Good grief,’ says Georgie, shaking her head. ‘Still, I’ve seen worse in certain art galleries.’

‘That fella looks like the grim reaper, clutching that thing,’ says Jack, chuckling.

I look at the screen and the ginger man suddenly transforms into Geoffrey. His eyes bulge and he starts to wheeze as he squeezes the scythe tighter in his hands. ‘It was you,’ he hisses at me through the screen. ‘You did it.’

Just then my phone rings in my pocket and I almost drop my plate in fright.

‘He’s right,’ says Jack, oblivious to my distress. ‘She did do it. It was his wife who convinced him to buy it.’

‘Is that your phone, Ness?’ says Georgie, glancing at me.

I nod my head as I take the phone out of my pocket.

‘Unknown number’ is displayed on the screen. My throat goes dry. I had blocked the email earlier but it’s no use. I remember Connor telling me at the beginning of our relationship how he devised his branding campaigns: ‘You attack them from all sides, become part of their consciousness, until they’re left wondering how they ever lived without you.’

‘I’ll just take this,’ I say, getting up and walking out into the hallway.

I take a deep breath then press accept. This has to stop and only I can make that happen.

‘Enough, Connor,’ I hiss into the phone, hearing the laboured breath at the other end. ‘You have to stop this now. Do you hear me? Just leave me alone.’

‘Miss Adams?’ says an unfamiliar male voice.

Startled, I almost drop the phone.

‘Er, yes,’ I say. ‘Who is this? What do you want?’

‘This is DS Collins from West Hampstead police station.’