‘It got too much.’ I’m being careful. I don’t want to tell him everything, yet I know I must not lie. ‘I needed to get out. Quickly.’ I hesitate, stumbling over the name I’ve given my husband. ‘Harvey was there for me.’

My mind goes back to that time. Me in the kitchen, with Frosty. She was making coffee for me, sipping red wine from a mug. I don’t think she’d been to bed, it was festival time; the day before we’d been marching with friends of Johan, partying in the bars, and then a group had come back here. Now the place was quiet; most people had left to carry on, or were asleep.

Marcus was upstairs, playing a guitar someone had left months ago. ‘There you go,’ said Frosty, handing me my drink. ‘We don’t have any milk.’ I was used to that. We never did.

‘Thanks.’

‘How’s Marky?’

‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘I think. Although his family are freaking out.’

‘Again?’

‘They want him to go home.’

Frosty gasped in mock-horror. ‘What? Away from all this? But why?’ She laughed. ‘I guess they don’t understand.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I guess they don’t.’

‘Have you met them?’

I put my coffee down.

‘No. Not yet. He thinks his dad might come over. He wants the three of us to go out. Says we should insist. He wants to show them he’s cleaned up.’

Frosty tilted her head. ‘Has he?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I was only telling half the truth. We’d kicked together, gone through cold turkey. It’d been a hell of sweating, of vomiting and diarrhoea and stomach cramps so severe we’d both moan with the pain. Our bones ached, and neither of us could find relief in sleep. I felt like I was burning up, nothing helped, and all the time the knowledge that just one more hit would make all the pain go away shone in front of us. But we were both strong, we helped each other when it threatened to get too much, and we’d been clean for a few weeks. Now Marcus’s father was on his way and Marcus had begged me for one last hit. Eventually I’d agreed. One, and then no more. Ever. We were going to do it later that day, or the following morning as the sun came up. A final farewell.

I didn’t tell Frosty all that, though.

‘We both have,’ I said. She said nothing, then smiled. ‘That’s good,’ she said, then changed the subject. We finished our drinks, talking about the partying we were planning for the weekend. ‘You’ll help me get ready?’ she said, and I said, yes, yes of course I would.

‘Good,’ she said, but then it happened. Something passed through Frosty; she looked as if she were somewhere else entirely. It lasted only for a moment, and then she looked up at me.

‘Honeybunch,’ she said. ‘Where’s Marky?’

I said nothing. The room was silent, and had been for a while. The guitar playing had stopped.

Now, I look at the picture on the bed – Marcus in the Mirror – and then up at Lukas. He’s shaking his head. I worry that he disapproves, that this conversation will mark the beginning of our disconnection, yet he deserves my honesty, in this at least. He takes my hand. ‘What happened?’

I don’t want to go back there; I can’t. Sometimes I think what I did that night was the catalyst for what happened to Kate. If I’d behaved differently she’d still be around. ‘I had a wake-up call, I guess. I left. I knew I had to. But I had nowhere to go. Not until Harvey rescued me.’

‘You knew him already?’

‘Yes. He was the son of my father’s best friend. The two of us met when I was still at school and we became friends. He was just about the only person who stayed in contact with me while I was in Berlin, and when it all came to an end it was him I called. I asked whether he’d speak to my father for me. You know, smooth the way …’

‘And he did?’

‘He paid for my ticket. He was waiting for me when I got off the plane. He said I could stay with him, for a few days, until I got myself sorted out …’

‘And you’re still there …’

I feel a momentary anger. ‘Yes, but you make it sound like an accident. I’m there because we fell in love.’

He nods, and I calm down. I’m glad when he doesn’t ask the next logical question: whether that’s still the case. The answer isn’t straightforward. Where once our love was deep and clear, now it’s more complex. We’ve shared good times, and bad. We’ve argued, I’ve been angry, I’ve hated him as well as loved him. We’re there for each other, but it’s not uncomplicated. Things settle, over the years. They become something else. I can’t summarize it with a simple Yes, I still love him, or No, I don’t.

‘And then you met me.’

I hold my breath. ‘Yes.’

The room is silent. From somewhere, way off, I hear the sounds of the hotel, the other guests, doors banging, laughter, and from outside comes the steady buzz of traffic. But inside all is still.

I turn on to my side. I face him. ‘Tell me about your wife.’

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, then opens them again. ‘Her name was Kim. We met through work. She worked for a client. I loved her very much.’

‘How long were you married?’

‘She was diagnosed just before our first anniversary. They gave her a year to eighteen months. She died about seven months later.’

There’s a silence. There’s nothing to say. I tell him I’m sorry.

He looks at me. ‘Thank you.’ He reaches out to take my hand. ‘I miss her. It’s been years, but I miss her.’ He smiles, then kisses me. ‘She’d have liked you.’

I smile. I don’t know how that makes me feel. It’s meaningless, we’d never have met. If she’d still been around, Lukas wouldn’t be here with me now. For a long time I’m silent, and then I ask him.

‘You said you’d help me to find my sister online?’

‘Of course. Do you want me to?’

It’s been a week since his offer, but I’ve thought about it since. It might be painful, but it’s worth a try. And I won’t be on my own. ‘Yes. If you think you can.’

He says he’ll see what he can do. I give him her name, the name she’d used on encountrz, her date of birth, anything he might find useful. He taps them into his phone, then says he’ll do his best.

‘Leave it with me,’ he says. The room feels claustrophobic, full of ghosts. He must feel it, too; he suggests we go out. ‘We can get some lunch. Or a coffee.’

We get dressed and go downstairs, out of the hotel and down to the station. The concourse is busy but we find a table in one of the coffee shops. It’s near the window and I feel on display, yet somehow, right now, it doesn’t seem to matter. People’s gazes slide across me. I’m invisible. Lukas gets our drinks.

‘That’s better.’ He sits down. ‘Are you okay? With me talking about Kim back there, I mean?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

He smiles. ‘I’m glad we can talk about real things. Things that matter. I’ve never had that before.’

‘What do you normally do, then?’

‘With people I chat to online?’

I nod. He looks down and scratches his shoulder absentmindedly. He’s still smiling. I think of the fantasies we’ve been sharing.

‘The same thing we do?’

‘Yes. But nothing’s been as crazy as it is with you.’ He pauses. ‘How about you?’

He knows I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve already told him.

‘My husband and I …’ I begin, but then my sentence evaporates. ‘We’ve been married for a long time.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I guess I mean I love him. I want to be there for him. But …’

‘But it’s not always that exciting?’

I don’t answer. Is that what I mean?

I look at Lukas. It’s easier with you, I think. We want to impress, we save the best for each other. We don’t share the stresses of everyday life, not yet, even if we have shared our big losses. I haven’t had to sit with you as you vent your frustration at the family who’ve complained about you, as you’ve moaned that you’ve had to write a letter, a ‘grovelling apology’, even though you know damn well you’d warned them of the possible side effects of surgery. I haven’t had to try to support you, knowing that you won’t be supported, that there’s nothing I can say or do that will make any difference.