My worst fears abated when I glanced at the picture on the front page. Thank God it wasn’t Mitch.

Self-obsession blots out the world. Depression dulls the senses and leaves no room for others. Daily survival had become my sole aim. One day at a time. Nothing could jolt me from apathy. That was until I got back to the flat and closed the door. I put on the kettle, needing a mug of peppermint tea to prepare my stomach for a few ounces of muesli.

The phone rang and rang, and for some reason I didn’t answer it, despite the fact I’d spent the last two weeks waiting for its welcome interruptions. I laid the paper carefully on the coffee table, slowly smoothing out the front cover. I used both hands to flatten it. Before I read the article I checked the date at the top of the paper, making sure it was today’s news. Perhaps I’d picked up an old copy of a paper a week or two out of date. The picture was that of a stranger.

It was some other Mitch Dawson whom I didn’t recognise. The black and white photograph was grainy, unclear. The twinkling eyes smiled at me. A castle in the background was an Italian ruin, somewhere near Panicale in Umbria, and the rucksack visible over the victim’s shoulder was purple with the single word Buongiorno plastered across the back. I knew this, not from the clarity of the photograph, but I recognised the item. It was a purchase from a flea market in Castiglione Del Lago the week we arrived in Italy. It kept his wallet, phone and passport safe, and it never left his side.

I joked with him that I’d like to hide in the backpack so he’d never go off without me.

I deliberately scalded myself with the peppermint tea. I poured it slowly down my arms and let the pain sear through my body. I managed not to pass out from the pain but instead retched over the sofa, through both the shock and the agony.

A teacher in his late thirties, Mitch Dawson, was bludgeoned to death on Wednesday night in Barnet. A baseball bat was found near the body and it is believed to be the murder weapon. A man was arrested at the scene.

Friends and colleagues or anyone who might have known Mr Dawson are asked to come forward and help police with their enquiries.

Suddenly an agonising scream pierced the air. It went on and on.

For what seemed like an eternity, I was unable to stop.

77

Amber

It took several days to sort out a visiting order. Purpose and resolve fleetingly blocked the pain and misery.