The man dropped his car keys onto a pile of mess on a dresser. ‘There’s a bathroom across the hall.’ He nodded towards the entrance hall, paved with the same dark red tiles as the kitchen. It was when I glanced back that I spotted the highchair. The empty baby bottles amongst the mound of dirty pots by the sink. The pram pushed up against one wall.

This was his house. His and the baby’s house. So, where was Charlie?

My brain stuck there, unable to process the possibility of what a man and a baby in Charlie’s house could mean. I ducked across into the bathroom and spent a hasty five minutes sorting myself out as best I could – which wasn’t very much, given what I was working with. After an initial glance in the mirror I had to steel myself before I could face a closer inspection. I’d lost my hat at some point during the night, and my deep brown mahogany-on-a-good-day hair was now a matted mess. Huge greyish-purply rings surrounded each listless, bloodshot blue eye. The bump on my head was smeared with dried blood, speckles of which also covered the rest of my face. And if you could find a foundation to match this skin-tone it would have been called ‘hint of corpse’.

Lovely. I splashed water on my face, dabbing gently at the blood stains with some toilet roll, and wondered why on earth this man had let me in his car, let alone his house.

I didn’t wonder for long. My frazzled brain had far more important things to worry about right then. And to be honest, if he had turned out to be one of the bad guys, as long as he let me sit down and maybe have a hot drink before bludgeoning me to death, I couldn’t summon up the energy to care.

I returned to the kitchen to find a steaming mug sitting on the table, opposite where he sat with a matching mug, the baby next to him in the highchair giving the impression of a very unorthodox interview panel. Hat and hood off, I could see they both had the same thick, tufty dark hair. I gingerly lowered myself into a seat, before taking a few sips of scalding, sugary tea while I fought through the fog to come up with something to say.

‘Thanks again. I dread to think what would have happened if you’d not arrived when you did.’

The man shrugged. ‘You’d have slept a bit longer until someone else came along.’

‘But they wouldn’t have lived at Damson Farm.’ I paused, questioningly. ‘I presume you do live here?’

He nodded.

‘I’m kind of surprised you brought me here without asking any questions about who I am.’

‘You weren’t in a fit state to answer any questions.’

I took another gulp of tea, my hand barely able to lift the mug up to my mouth.

‘So, now that you’ve warmed up and are sitting down, why are you here?’