‘It is,’ I say resolutely. I mean it. Rory’s not my father and I’m not my mother. We’ll make our own way, Rory and me. If what Heather, Flora and Margot have been through has taught me anything, it’s that you have to grab happiness when you can as you never know what the future holds. Hold on to the ones you love.

He checks his watch. ‘I need to get off. What time are you going in?’

‘I don’t fancy seeing Ted this morning.’ I have Heather’s interview still to finish writing up, so at least that should pacify him for a bit but I know he won’t be happy about this. And my last article will have to be scrapped as it will no longer be relevant. ‘I’ll walk down in the next ten minutes. I’ve got a lunchtime deadline and at least my story about Heather will be an exclusive.’

Rory bends over to kiss me goodbye. When he’s gone I read through Harriet Hill’s article again. I wonder if she knows the ‘two residents’ who found Flora were Rory and me.

I gather my things together and make my way to work. It’s not raining but a mist has settled over Bristol, giving everything an ethereal quality. As I walk the cobbled streets of the Welsh Back and turn left at the Llandoger Trow, I can almost imagine I’ve gone back in time. What had Flora been doing in the derelict building across from mine? It still doesn’t make sense. Was she the person who’s been following me? Did she post the bus ticket through my door in a bid to reach out to me? To tell me? How did she get into the building? And what about the photos and ‘Back off’? I can’t imagine they were from her.

It’s nearly nine as I trudge up Park Street and bump into Jack coming out of the newsagent’s with a can of full-fat Coke in his hand. ‘Need some energy,’ he says, holding up the can with a guilty look on his face, as though I’ve caught him with an illegal substance.

‘I could do with some of that this morning,’ I admit, and quickly fill him in on what happened last night.

‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaims, when I’ve finished. ‘So what does this mean for your friend, Heather?’

I push open the door to the building. Stan isn’t huddled on the ground this morning, which gives me hope that he might have found a bed last night.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But it throws doubt on the investigation. I suppose the police will question Flora.’