Suddenly I felt possessive of the experience. I shook my head. She sat down and Dr. Kyriacou led me along the corridor and into a room that looked as if it were full of filing cabinets with drawers four deep, but with handles like old-fashioned fridges. He glanced at the clipboard he was carrying, then walked to one and turned to me. “Are you ready?” he asked.

I nodded. He pulled open the door and there was a rush of cold air into the already cold room. He drew out a tray. There was a body lying on it, covered with a sheet. Without hesitating he lifted a corner of the sheet. I couldn’t stop myself gasping because now I knew, finally, decisively, that there was no mistake and that he was dead, my darling Greg, whom I’d last seen rushing out of the house, a half-eaten piece of toast between his teeth, so we hadn’t even kissed.

I made myself look closely. His face was blackened by the fire, some of his hair was burned away and his scalp scorched. The only real damage was above his right eyebrow where there were signs of a terrible collision. I reached out and touched some of his hair, then leaned forward and touched it with my lips. There was a strong smell of burning. “Goodbye,” I whispered to him. “My love.”

“Is this Gregory Manning?” said Dr. Kyriacou.

I nodded.

“You need to say it aloud,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Thank you,” he said, and wrote on his clipboard.

Dr. Kyriacou took me back to Gwen and then a thought occurred to me. “The other person in the crash. Is she here?”

“Yes,” he said.

I paused. I hardly dared ask the question. “Do you . . .” I began. “Do you know her name?”

Dr. Kyriacou rummaged through the files. “Her husband came,” he said. “Yes, here we are.” He looked at the front of the file. “Milena Livingstone.”

Gwen looked at me. “Who is she?”

“I’ve never heard of her,” I said.

Chapter Three