‘Yes. But do you think they’re still investigating what happened?’

‘I’m sure they’re doing everything—’ he began, but I interrupted him.

‘I mean, really investigating it?’

He smiles. It’s his sad smile, full of compassion. His surgeon’s smile. I used to imagine him practising it in the mirror, determined not to be one of those doctors accused of having a poor bedside manner.

‘I’m sure they are. We’ve discussed it with them. They’ve interviewed all her friends, all the people she worked with. They’ve been through her phone records, they’ve taken the information off her computer. They’ve followed up every lead. But something like that? It can’t be easy. Random, unprovoked …’

‘You told them about the dating sites?’

‘Yes. I rang them as soon as you told me. But they already knew. Anna told them. They said Kate didn’t have a boyfriend …’

‘But they’re not just about dating. Anna implied she was using them for sex. Casual sex.’ He shakes his head but I go on. ‘You know. One-night stands. Anna says it wasn’t that often, but she did it. And she didn’t always tell her where she was going, or who she was meeting.’

A look of disapproval flashes on his face. I wonder for a moment whether he thinks she deserves what she got, and then instantly I dismiss the thought.

‘D’you think that’s who killed her?’

‘Who?’

‘Someone she went to meet. To have sex with, I mean. Or someone she was messaging, at least?’

‘I’m sure the police are looking into that—’

‘They haven’t told us they are.’

‘Look, we’ve been through all this, Julia. They’re looking into it. The truth is, I think she talked to a lot of people online but only met up with one or two.’

I hesitate. I need to push him; I’m almost certain he knows more than he’s telling me, that there might be a tiny fragment that’s been overlooked, a detail that will unlock the rest and make it all fit into place.

‘But—’

He interrupts me. ‘Julia, we’ve been through all this a thousand times. They’ve kept her laptop; they’re doing everything they can. But if she was doing that and keeping it secret then it would be almost impossible to find everyone she might have been in contact with. There might be sites she used that we don’t know about, any number of people she was talking to … What’s that?’

At first I don’t know what he means, but then I see that he’s looking at my screen.

‘It’s a photograph.’ He isn’t wearing his glasses and has to lean forward to get a better view. ‘It’s where Kate died.’

He puts his hand on my shoulder. It feels heavy, meant to reassure. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to look at that, darling?’

‘No,’ I say. I’m not desperate, but I’d like him to approve.

But why would he? He thinks the police are doing their best and that’s the end of it.

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea at all, but what else am I supposed to do?’

‘Come back to bed?’

‘Soon …’

‘Come on.’ He squeezes my shoulder then gently closes the lid of my machine. ‘Come and get some rest. You’ll feel better. I promise. Doctor’s orders.’

I stand up. I won’t feel better, I want to say, I never do. He turns to go back upstairs.

‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to make myself a cup of tea. I might read for a bit. Until I feel sleepy.’

‘Okay,’ he says. He knows I have no intention of following him. ‘You haven’t forgotten we’ve got people coming for supper? Have you?’

‘No,’ I say, even though I had.

‘Maria and Paddy …’

Of course. We’ve known the Renoufs for years, ever since Maria joined Hugh’s department as a registrar. Hugh tipped her for success even then, said she was going places, was someone he mustn’t let go. I like them both, but this is the first time he’s invited them – invited anyone, in fact – since Kate died. I suppose he thought cooking would do me good. Maybe he’s right. Following a recipe. Chopping, weighing, measuring. I used to enjoy it, before Kate. I went on courses, I was proud of the fact that I’d gone from someone who knew nothing about cooking to someone who could make their own pasta.

But, now? Now, I don’t want to see anyone.

‘Can’t we cancel?’

He comes over. ‘Darling. It’ll do you good, I promise.’ He kisses the top of my head. It’s a tender kiss, warm. For a moment I want to climb inside him, have him protect me. ‘We’ll have fun. We always do. Maria will talk endlessly about work and Paddy will flirt with you, and then when they’ve gone we’ll laugh about it. I promise.’

He’s right. I know he is. I can’t keep running.

‘I’ll go shopping this morning,’ I say.

He goes back upstairs. I sit in the chair. I leave my machine closed. I don’t want to log on to encountrz. I’m afraid of what I might see.

I make tea, I sit with my book. An hour passes, two. Hugh comes downstairs, showered now, ready for work, then a little while later, Connor.

‘Hi, Mum,’ he says. He’s dressed, wearing his uniform, the grey jumper, the white shirt with a maroon tie. I watch as he gets himself a bowl of cereal, pours himself some juice. He’s looking older every day, I think.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ I say, and he replies, ‘Yep,’ with a friendly shrug, as if there’s no reason at all he might not be.

Maybe he really is fine, but I doubt it. He’s stopped crying now, but if anything that’s more worrying. The only time he ever talks about Kate’s death is to ask if there’s ‘any news’, by which he means, ‘Have they got them yet?’ I’d felt angry at first – it’s all he can focus on – but now I see that it’s the only prism through which he can process his grief. After all, he’s just turned fourteen. How else is he supposed to respond?

He sits down with his breakfast and I watch as he begins to eat.

The counsellor we’ve taken him to says all this is normal. He’s doing as well as can be expected, working through his grief in his own way, and we should try not to worry. But how can I not? He won’t talk to me. He’s slipping away. Now, I need him to know how much I love him, that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, but it’s almost as if he’s decided he no longer cares.

I clear my throat. ‘It’s okay, if you want to talk.’

‘I’m fine.’ He eats his cereal quickly as I make myself a coffee. For a moment I’m back with Kate, it’s her getting ready for school, not her son, but then a moment later Connor is standing, gathering his things. Don’t go, I want to say. Sit with me. Talk to me. But of course I can’t. ‘See you later!’ I say, and before I know it he’s almost out of the door. From nowhere comes an almost overwhelming urge to hug him.

I would have done, once, yet now I don’t. These days he’s as likely as not to respond to a hug with indifference, as if what I’m doing is of no concern to him, and today I couldn’t bear that. ‘Love you!’ I shout instead, and he says, ‘Bye, Mum!’ as he leaves. It’s almost enough.

He’s growing up. I know that. He’s becoming a man; it would be a tough time even if he didn’t have Kate’s death to wrestle with. I have to remember that, no matter what happens, how hard it gets, how distant he becomes, he’s in pain. I might feel like I’ve already failed him a million times but still I have to look after him, to protect him, like I looked after and protected his mother when she was a child.

I turn away from the window. I’m photographing a family next week – a colleague of Adrienne’s, her husband, her two little girls – and I need to think about that. It’s the first time I’ve felt able to work since Kate died and I want it to go well. Plus, I have a dinner party to prepare. Things must get done.

Chapter Seven

I call Adrienne to get her friend’s details. I want to make arrangements. I have my studio at the bottom of the garden in which I keep my tripods and lights, a couple of backdrops I can suspend from the ceiling. I have a desk there, though usually I do my editing on my laptop in the house, at the kitchen table, or in the living room. ‘It would be good if they could come to me,’ I say. ‘It’ll make it easier.’