There was an old cookery show on TV; it was one she hadn’t seen since her mum was alive and she felt a pang of sadness as thoughts of her mother crossed her mind. They used to watch Keith Floyd together regularly; her mother loved his vibrancy and authenticity. She would wink and say that she had met him once, and Imogen wondered if it was code, a clue that he was her biological father. The mythical bio-dad who was everything from a prince to a crack addict – it seemed silly now to think that she thought this TV celebrity might be her father. There again, her mother had a way of doing the unexpected, so it wasn’t completely out of the question.

It had been almost a year since her mother had died and she had barely allowed herself time to think about her. Once she gave herself that permission, there would be no stopping it and so she preferred not to start. Imogen had always felt as though crying was a weakness in some way and so she was loath to succumb. She switched channels until she found something less emotionally challenging.

Her eyes became heavy as she focused on the screen, the Northern accents a refreshing change from the Devonshire twang that she was used to.

Adrian’s lips woke her, pressing against hers gently; she wondered what she must look like and hoped she wasn’t drooling.

‘I forgot to say thanks,’ he said before kissing her again.

She kissed him back.

‘Feel better?’ Imogen said.

‘I’m sorry if I was a shit,’ Adrian said, perching on the sofa next to her.

She moved to accommodate him and nestled in his arm as he drew her closer.

‘You weren’t. I get it. That must have been a traumatic experience for you. Sorry you had to go through it alone.’

‘I’d better get back to the hospital,’ Adrian said.

‘Can we just stay here for a minute?’

‘DI Walsh is already there. She hasn’t woken yet, but I’d like to be there when she does eventually wake up. I offered for us to do the night shift. He just phoned to tell me the doctor ruled out sexual assault.’

‘Well, that’s something at least,’ Imogen said.

‘Is it? I don’t see how anything could have made it any worse. She was as near to death as anyone I have ever seen. When I felt her hand around my leg, I thought I had lost my mind. She looked so … she just looked gone. I should have checked her pulse straight away.’

‘She’s in good hands now. The doctors will take care of her. We just need to find out who she is and how she ended up there. How about you? Are you OK?’

‘I don’t know if OK is the right word for it.’