Something else has been niggling at me, too. Something I haven’t wanted to think too much about. Those photos on my car. When they were taken I’d been on a job with Jack in Tilby. I recognize the scenery in the distance. Had Jack taken the photos without me being aware? Then why put them on my car with the words ‘Back off’? Why would he want to scare me from the story? So he can take it over for himself? I feel instantly guilty for my treacherous thoughts. Jack’s one of my closest friends. And he’s a snapper, not a reporter. But I can tell he’s hiding something from me – I know him too well.

Rory’s already home. I can smell spices and curry paste as I take off my coat and shoes in the hallway. My stomach grumbles at the prospect. I’ve not eaten anything since lunchtime.

‘Good day?’ he says, as I walk into the living room, slinging my laptop bag onto the sofa. This is how we are with each other now. Polite, but distant. We could be flatmates, rather than lovers. I remember, with a jolt, that I haven’t even told him about the photographs on my car and the threatening message. We haven’t really conversed since I told him I’d found the engagement ring a few days ago.

‘Busy,’ I say, walking through to the kitchen. I stand beside him, watching as he stirs the curry. Usually we’d kiss now, or I’d wrap my arms around his waist as he cooked. But we just stand there, like virtual strangers.

‘I thought …’ he indicates the frying pan ‘… we could sit down for once and talk properly.’

I pull a regretful face. ‘I’ve got a bit of work to do. I went to see Heather today.’

‘Heather?’

‘The woman I used to be friends with,’ I say, surprised that he doesn’t remember. How can he not know about Heather, when she and her family are all I’ve thought about for the past couple of weeks?

‘The woman who murdered two people in Tilby?’ He turns to me, a horrified expression on his face. ‘You went to see her?’

‘Yes. She’s still in hospital. She agreed to an interview.’ He turns away and his shoulders tense. Disapproval emanates from every pore. ‘What?’

He sighs. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s obviously not nothing,’ I spit, tiredness making me tetchy. ‘It’s my job, Rory.’

He spins around to face me, wooden spoon still in his hand. ‘I understand that. But … I don’t know. You’re so secretive. I thought we told each other everything, yet you lied to me about your last job. The phone hacking. The threats. The reason we left London. I gave up everything to follow you here and I feel like you’re doing it all over again.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Pushing me out. Not being honest.’