Sophie heads quickly through the first double doors out, then keeps walking until she’s a good distance from the hospital. Freya wonders if she’s leaving, until she stops at a bench and sits down, digging in her bag, pulling out a hand-rolled cigarette and lighting it.

‘Hi, Sophie?’ Freya says tentatively. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Sophie looks uncertain, then nods. She takes a drag from her cigarette and blows it out in one long plume.

‘I’m Freya. I work with Robin.’

‘You…’ Sophie’s face falls. ‘Oh shit,’ she mutters, and Freya, noticing the sweet smell of weed in the air, realises that the hand-rolled cigarette is a joint.

But Freya holds up her hands. ‘Look, if you don’t tell anyone, I won’t.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie says, then she starts to cry, bent forward, hands over her face.

Freya takes the joint out of her hand before she sets her hair on fire and lays it delicately on a corner of the bench. Then she reaches over and puts an arm round Sophie. She knows what it’s like to have your life tipped upside down in a matter of seconds. Sophie may not have lost Finn, but right now he’s not the man she loves, and might not be again.

After a while, Sophie’s tears abate and she sniffs, wiping her eyes. ‘I didn’t think this could get any worse,’ she says. ‘I assumed it was all repressed memories. Like you see on TV. One day he’d remember what happened in a big flash, and I’d have my Finn back.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Freya replies, although she knows her words are pathetic. Nothing will make things better.

‘What do I do now?’ Sophie says, looking at Freya with wide eyes. ‘What if he’s like this forever? What if this’ – she points angrily back to the hospital – ‘is it?’

‘Give it time, Sophie. You don’t need to make any decisions now. See what the doctors say once they’ve run their latest tests.’

Sophie nods, sniffing again, as Freya’s phone starts to ring. She pulls it out of her pocket with a final squeeze of Sophie’s shoulder, and watches as Sophie reaches for her joint, putting it back between her lips.

‘And don’t let Robin see that,’ Freya says with a smile, as she moves away. ‘Josh? How’s it going?’

‘Ugh.’ An exasperated sigh comes from the other end. ‘Solicitors everywhere. All three have lawyered up. But they’re not wriggling out of this one. Vardy’s made a formal statement, CCTV confirms the time the boys went home, and the fingerprints have all come back as a match on the freezer and on the bottles and cans in the bus shelter.’

‘Anything on the DNA on the fag butts?’ Freya asks. She realises how much she likes speaking to Josh, his Geordie accent soft and lilting.