I shake my head emphatically, pushing away any doubts. ‘It’s not necessarily her. It would be extremely out of character.’ I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. ‘And no point looking it up. We’ll be there soon.’ I’m trying to put off the inevitable.

‘But you said you haven’t seen her since you were teenagers. People change. Something might have happened to turn her into a killer.’

I shrug, trying to look like I couldn’t care less either way as I concentrate on ignoring the little voice inside my head that says, Do you remember what she told you? It was a secret you promised never to tell. And if you had told, it might not have happened. I mentally shake myself. I was fourteen. It was nearly twenty years ago. How can I be sure I’m recollecting it all correctly?

Jack shuffles against the seat. ‘I’m glad to be getting out the office. Honestly, if Mrs Hodge rings up one more time complaining about the photos I took of Fluffy …’

I giggle. ‘Fluffy? Seriously?’

‘It had been a quiet news day.’ He grins, then shifts his weight and winces. ‘I’m in pain here. Just saying.’

‘How tall are you?’ I laugh as I move into the left-hand lane. The turning for Tilby is coming up.

‘Nearly six five and most of that is leg.’ He raises an eyebrow as if daring me to contradict him. Not that I would. It’s true, he’s all limbs.

‘You’re practically a giant compared to me.’ I’m at least a foot shorter.

‘Yes, well, my height is a slight disadvantage when I’m forced to travel in Noddy’s car,’ he says, his eyes twinkling.

I smack him hard on his bony thigh. ‘And what do you suggest I drive? Some corporate BMW or Mercedes? You can always take the bus next time.’ But I’m smiling as I say it. Jack is one of my favourite people. Nothing ever seems to get him down. Five years younger than me, he’s full of spark, of life, always ready with a quip or a joke. When he started at the paper last summer we soon bonded over our shared love of cigarettes and Kraftwerk. At that time I’d been working at the Herald just a few months. Now he’s one of my closest friends in Bristol. Actually, he’s my only friend in Bristol, apart from my boyfriend, Rory.

Jack cranes his neck, like an elegant giraffe, to get a better look out of the windscreen. ‘Where is this place?’ he says, as I swing right at the roundabout. ‘I thought we were going to the beach.’ Jack is from Brighton but moved to a flat in Fishponds with his police-officer boyfriend, Finn, nine months ago. I know he misses living by the sea.