‘DS Costain –’ she put a hand on his arm – ‘I’d normally appoint a new commanding officer from outside your team, but I’m going to tell anyone who’s interested that getting up to speed with your unit would waste valuable time. So you are now in charge of Operation Fog. Are you okay with that?’

‘Ma’am,’ Costain nodded. Sefton was pleased to see no triumph or annoyance in him. There was only the anguish they all shared.

*   *   *

Sarah Quill had woken a neighbour, asked her to stay in the house in case Jessica woke up, and then driven through the scarily empty streets of London into a building that was far too busy, where she had seen her dead husband’s body on a tray.

She had expected him to wake up. That would have been terrifying, but then, a second after, it would have been wonderful.

It had occurred to her, in that moment, that perhaps he actually might wake up, because now she knew impossible things could happen. But he didn’t.

She hadn’t wanted to touch him, but she had: she had pushed her head down and made herself kiss him, fighting awful horrors in the depths of her about this being the last time she would see … the body. Him. Calm voices told her that wasn’t the case.

There would be a funeral.

She was given a hot drink and asked if she was okay to drive. He was still in there, still just over there, in the other room. Still, incredibly, not breathing.

They hadn’t wanted to say how he’d died, but she’d understood what was under the sheet. That hadn’t hurt her at all. That was just a detail that her brain had gently put in a place where it couldn’t yet hurt her.

But it would. That detail had joined a list. They were all coming to get her.

She drove herself home. She thanked the neighbour and shook her head when the neighbour asked what had happened. The neighbour said Sarah was as white as a sheet.

So Sarah had been there when Jessica had woken up, like on any morning.

Jessica had come downstairs shouting, which turned into singing something off the telly. Then she had immediately said, out of nowhere, as if it was a certainty, that Daddy had already gone to work.

Somehow, Sarah was still sure it was all a mistake, but that was just trying to keep at bay this awful thing … which was true.

She was tempted, just for a moment, as she got Jessica ready to go to nursery – while Jessica talked and talked about Disney princesses and how she wanted all of them and that they could afford it, a word she’d only learned this week – to tell her that, yes, Daddy had gone to work.

But no. No.