‘There’s no reason why we can’t be friends,’ she continues, almost talking to the corpse. ‘And I know it’s down to me that we’re not, I told you not to call. But this. This is shit.’ She pauses and Robin stays silent, unsure of what to say. ‘And I miss you,’ she finishes quietly.

‘I miss you too.’

She looks up, peering at him over her mask. ‘Do you?’

He nods. ‘I’m so sorry everything ended like that.’

She shrugs in reply and goes back to her consideration of the body. ‘Everything here is as I expected. Do you want to see?’

She points to the gown and masks; Robin suits up and stands next to her.

She uses the tweezers to pull back the lacerated skin on his neck, showing the mess underneath. ‘See here,’ she says, pointing with a gloved finger. ‘Tiny nick to his carotid. Would have made a hell of a mess. Wound consistent with the penknife found at the scene.’

‘Anything else?’

‘I’ll keep looking.’

Robin moves away and sits back on his chair.

‘How’s your friend?’ Steph asks.

Robin sighs. He still hasn’t been to the hospital to see Finn, although he phoned the ward that morning for an update. ‘Very confused. His short-term memory’s fucked, and he can’t remember what happened. The doctor said he’s been coming out with some ridiculous stuff about the storm, almost like he’s making up stories to compensate for the parts he can’t remember.’

Steph pauses. ‘They’ve done blood tests, right?’

‘I think so. He’s having trouble walking, although the doctor says it’s hard to work out what symptoms are related to the night of the storm and what’s from alcohol withdrawal.’

‘He was an alcoholic?’ Steph repeats.

‘Apparently so,’ Robin replies. ‘I had no idea. Some friend I am.’

Steph turns round to face him, scalpel in hand, when his phone rings. ‘Sorry,’ he says, and pulls it out to answer it.

He doesn’t recognise the number, and when he answers, the voice is hysterical and female.

‘Robin, please, I need your help.’

She’s breathless and frantic, barely understandable through her panic.

‘Who’s this?’ he asks.

‘Please. The baby. It’s early. It’s coming. I…’ There’s a long, protracted scream at the other end of the phone.

‘Liv? Shit.’ Robin jumps to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ he shouts at Steph, as he heads out of the mortuary. ‘Where are you? Are you at home?’

The screaming stops, and the panting resumes. ‘No, the hospital. Labour ward. Please, Robin. I’m scared.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Robin doesn’t hesitate. He runs into the main body of the hospital, then grabs the arm of the first person in scrubs that he sees.

‘The labour ward? Where is it?’ he asks.