She knows she should go to the hospital, but what would be the point? Her company makes no difference to Finn, and it certainly doesn’t help him remember. He just repeats the same old crap, like an annoying broken record. His insane fabricated memories are becoming a respite from his inability to figure out the basics.

So if he can’t remember, this missing video footage is his best bet. It’s key. She remembers the press coverage at the beginning of the week, cameras flocking round Justin White. If anyone’s going to know, Sophie resolves, it’s the bloody cameraman.

An hour later, Sophie stands outside the Malmaison hotel. BBC budgets have improved, she thinks, staring up at the posh white-painted walls, the lavish sash windows. This place is nice. But how to find out which room Justin White is in?

She pulls her shoulders back and confidently walks into the plush lobby. A smiling, glossy-haired woman greets her warmly from behind the reception desk.

‘Sophie Hall, from Reading University, for the meeting with Justin White?’ she says, showing her Reading Uni pass. She hopes the woman won’t look too closely.

‘I wasn’t aware there was anything scheduled this morning,’ the receptionist says, rictus grin fixed on her face. ‘Shall I call?’

‘No, no, don’t do that,’ Sophie says quickly. ‘They’ll be filming and I don’t want to disturb them. I’ll just go on up. Room 516, right?’ she says, pulling a number out of thin air.

‘Oh, no, they were moved to a smaller suite. After…’ The woman’s face falls. ‘You know.’

‘I do. Such a tragedy. So…?’

‘Mr White is in room 308. Lifts on the right.’

‘Thank you.’ Sophie smiles warmly and quickly walks to the lifts, her heart beating fast. Calm down, she tells herself as she presses the button for the third floor. What did she think would happen? Escorted out in handcuffs for pretending to be a meteorologist?

The lift pings and she follows the signs to room 308. But once outside, she hesitates. What’s she going to say? Still, she knocks. She hears footsteps and the door’s opened; Justin White stands in front of her dressed only in his boxers and a T-shirt.

‘Sophie,’ he says, surprised. ‘I thought… I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Clearly not.’ Sophie doesn’t wait for an invitation and pushes past him into the hotel room. It smells of old beer and stale sweat. There are clothes and discarded plates everywhere, the room in darkness. ‘What have you been doing in here?’ she asks, swishing open the curtains.

Justin winces at the fresh influx of light. ‘My best friend died. What do you think I’ve been doing?’

‘Why haven’t you gone home?’

‘The police asked me to stick around, until… until their investigation is complete.’

‘Well, it’s not, is it? Where’s the footage, Justin?’