Jack sets down his tripod, a hand to the small of his back as he bends over. We’d parked in the next street even though it would take only fifteen minutes to walk from my place. The way Jack’s acting you’d think we had to trek miles with his camera equipment on his shoulders, like a mule.

He winces as he stands up. The bruise around his eye has turned a yellowy purple, and it’s in stark contrast to his pale face. ‘I must have pulled a muscle.’ He grimaces.

I roll my eyes. ‘Seriously? We’ve just walked around the corner.’

He turns away from me to set up his tripod on the pavement opposite Clive’s house and, for one brief, disbelieving moment, I wonder if I’ve offended him. Jack and I always take the piss out of each other. That’s our thing. It’s always done with affection. It’s because we’re close and have the same sense of humour. He’d normally retaliate with a killer comeback: he’d make a quip about my clothes, hair or accent. But he’s silent as he carefully places the camera on top of the tripod.

I touch his shoulder softly. ‘Hey. I didn’t mean it. Are you okay?’

‘Sure. Of course.’ But he doesn’t look at me as he says it.

I’m about to say more when I’m distracted by someone standing at the edge of the gathered crowd. It might have been nearly twenty years since I last saw him, but I can tell it’s him by the way he stands, the arc of his neck, the floppy, curly hair that looks like it should belong on a Labradoodle. He’s wearing jeans and a tan leather biker jacket, with a stripy scarf thrown stylishly around his throat. Even from here I can tell he’s handsome. He reminds me a little of a taller, duskier Rory. I move slowly away from Jack and cross the narrow street so that I’m standing beside the man.

I clear my throat and he turns his head in my direction. He must be nearly forty now. He has lines fanning from his eyes and bracketing his mouth, but he hasn’t changed much. There is no grey amid the thatch of dark curls. His eyes are still a startling blue. He doesn’t recognize me, I can tell. I bet he hardly noticed me back then. I was just a friend of Flora’s sister. A kid. Practically invisible to the likes of Dylan Bird.

I decide to use my anonymity to my advantage. ‘What do you think’s going on here, then?’ I ask, flashing him my most charming smile.