‘I know this is very hard for you to absorb. What you are going through is complex. Clare’s death must feel like an earthquake. Grief is an incredibly powerful force and you are still very early in the process, probably somewhere between denial and anger.’

Now she sounds like bloody Patrick Munis.

‘You had the trauma of being with her when she was dying, on top of the shock of her loss, on top of all the unresolved issues between you. And you’ve possibly got ADHD.’

At this point I wonder whether to tell her about my OCD, but calculate I’ll never get out of here if I get on to that. Another time.

‘There is something else I need to ask. Why do you feel so compelled to prove that your sister’s death was not a random accident? Why is it your personal mission to show the world that she was killed?’

I am quiet for maybe thirty seconds. ‘Look, Dr McGovern –’

‘Call me Penny.’

‘Look, Penny, there is considerable circumstantial evidence of foul play.’

‘Is that what the police think?’

‘The police don’t know everything I know.’

She looks troubled again, presumably reverting to her initial diagnosis that I am a fantasist.

‘Do you think it is possible you are pursuing this conspiracy theory because in some way you feel guilty that you didn’t protect her? Are you trying to make up for the rupture in your relationship with her by proving only you can save her now?’

No, I think she was murdered because she somehow threatened the most powerful people in the country who, it turns out, are psychopaths. And I am a fucking good reporter who is going to destroy those who destroyed her.

I say nothing. For a couple of minutes.

‘Look, I know you think I’m imagining things, but I swear that I still have my marbles. I was a bit overwrought the other day, when I saw the Chancellor. I accept that. But there is a lot about the last few weeks of Clare’s life that doesn’t add up. And yes, I do feel it is my responsibility to make sense of what happened. Is that really so wrong or crazy? I am her brother, for God’s sake.’

Penelope clearly doesn’t want to answer. She makes another note, then glances at the clock.

‘We’re almost out of time for today, so can I ask you to do one last thing for me? Can you tell me a story about Clare that would give me a sense of her, from your point of view?’

‘Any story?’ I am playing for time. This is hard.

‘Just something that shows to me what she means to you.’

‘Something from our childhoods, or more recent?’

‘Literally anything.’