‘So, have you anything to tell me?’ demanded Ursula as she drove, her long lock of hair tucked behind the arm of her sunglasses.

Zia tried to keep her mind off her nerves by teasing her. ‘Your yellow lacy top doesn’t go with your tattoos. It’s like clashing patterns in a quilt.’

‘Sod off,’ said Ursula good-naturedly. ‘I meant something in your life? To do with … a job, maybe?’ She waggled her blonde eyebrows and changed down a gear to overtake a minibus.

Zia had been peering left to catch glimpses of the sea but now she turned back to her friend with a frown. ‘So, the Brendon–Stephan news exchange has been active.’

Ursula brushed her dryness aside. ‘Exciting, though, eh? Have you spoken to your old boss?’

‘Elise? Yes, we’re meeting in Victoria on Monday.’ Zia tried not to sound prickly. ‘Ursula, is it possible to discourage Stephan from keeping tabs on me for Brendon, do you think? It was good of Bren to pass Elise’s number to me but we’re not together.’

Ursula shot her a surprised glance before returning her attention to the road ahead, slowing as they joined a tail of traffic. ‘I wouldn’t say Steph’s “keeping tabs”.’

‘No?’ Zia settled deeper into the car seat. Ursula’s car was an aged Audi and it was like being driven around on a sofa. ‘But I left you and Stephan yesterday and Bren called ten minutes later. And he’s obviously told Stephan about the job, otherwise you wouldn’t know.’ Zia touched her friend’s arm. ‘I get that he’s your husband and I talked about Gerardo in front of him yesterday myself without thinking too much about it but now I’m going to be more guarded. Brendon’s taking more interest in me than is appropriate for an ex.’

‘OK. I can see that’s not cool.’ Ursula sighed. ‘I miss the days we were a foursome though.’

‘It was only a few months,’ Zia said quietly. ‘Before that, Brendon was just one of Stephan’s mates and now I wish I’d kept it that way.’

Their route was slow as they navigated the built-up areas up to Brockenhurst Hill, after which they bowled beside a patchwork of green fields. They speculated as to whether they’d find Harry Anstey and what kind of reaction might await them, until they reached the next built-up area from Fontwell to Chichester.

Zia knew Chichester to be a pretty town with a grey stone cathedral and ornate buildings, such as the beautiful octangular Chichester Cross, but the satnav missed all that out. As her heartbeat picked up, they drove off the bypass past the retail park and Lidl, then north of Oaklands Park. In ten minutes, amongst a forest of twenty-miles-an-hour signs and the between-the-wars houses of The Avenue, they found a newer community.