There’s no doubt in his mind now that he wants to be a father. The pride he heard in Liv’s voice, the hope, the new joy in her life. He doesn’t fear it now, more a worry he might miss out. Because who is he possibly going to meet? he thinks. You don’t leap straight to parenthood. You go on dates, like the look of someone, fall in love, move in together. Sandra was right – women don’t just drop into your lap. You have to make the effort.

But it won’t be with Liv. Robin leaves her house with no doubt in his mind that that’s it. There’s nothing between them, and there never will be. She doesn’t want it and nor does he.

For a moment he sits in his car outside her house, wondering where to go next. It’s late; Freya must have finished at work by now, and he realises how much he’s looked forward to seeing her every day. Her easy smile, her gentle teasing, making him laugh.

Robin knows it takes a lot for him to feel truly at ease with someone, and this past fortnight he’s felt at his best being with her again. She’s the first person he sees every day, the last person he speaks to at night. Never anything untoward, never anything his DCI would disapprove of, but still. It’s there.

He picks up his phone and texts her.

Took longer than expected with Liv. You still at work?

He waits. Three dots rotate on the screen and he smiles, imagining her texting, the concentration on her face.

It beeps.

Left hours ago! At pub.

He replies.

What pub?

A slight pause.

O’Neill’s.

He starts the engine of his car and heads back. He’s not usually one to socialise with work colleagues, but today he fancies it. To be around people, have a pint and listen to the conversation. He hopes Mina will be there; he wants to catch up properly about her kids. And to see Freya.

He parks up at home, then starts walking towards the pub. The atmosphere in town is buzzing. It’s a Friday night, and people are out in the streets, enjoying dinner on the tables outside on the High Street, listening to the buskers next to the Buttercross. He crosses the road quickly and walks up to O’Neill’s.

The pub is full; Robin can hear the chatter of conversation and laughter before he’s even opened the door. And then he sees her. Through the large glass window, he watches Freya as she stands next to a high table, a glass of wine in her hand. Her long blonde hair is loose, and she’s laughing; Robin realises in a sharp moment of clarity how beautiful she is.