Josef nodded. ‘She is my friend.’

‘And you know where she is?’ Marty sounded admiring.

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Will they find her, do you reckon?’

‘No.’

‘But she can’t stay hidden for ever.’

‘Is true.’ The expression on Josef’s face became sombre. He ground his cigarette into the brickwork and stood up. ‘We should work.’

‘I want another biscuit.’

‘No. Three is enough.’

‘I want one.’ Tam’s voice rose higher. Her face became redder. ‘I want a biscuit.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll scream.’

‘That won’t help.’

Tam opened her mouth very wide, so it seemed to take up most of her face, and emitted a piercing shriek. Frieda picked up Rudi, who was trying to haul himself up on her legs, and put him on her lap. His weight felt comforting and his hair was clean and smelt of shampoo. The screaming went on, with little hiccups in between.

Bridget appeared in the doorway carrying two mugs of tea. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Did she fall over?’

‘No.’

‘I want another biscuit,’ roared Tam. ‘Carla said no.’

‘Oh, is that all?’

‘It’s not fair.’

‘Fair?’ Bridget’s eyebrows went up and she looked down at her daughter sceptically. ‘Here’s your tea.’ She handed a mug with a picture of a puffin on it across to Frieda. ‘I’ve found a nanny, by the way,’ she said, almost casually.

‘That’s probably for the best.’

‘Yes.’

They sat and drank their tea. At last Tam was winding down. She put her thumb in her mouth and within a few seconds had fallen asleep, her legs stretched out in front of her.

‘Welcome to the world of motherhood,’ said Bridget. ‘Nappies and tantrums and grazed knees and stained clothes and broken nights. Time’s never your own.’ She smiled at Frieda. ‘As you might have gathered, I’m not a particularly patient person.’

‘Going to work must make it easier.’

‘I’d go mad if I was with them all the time.’

‘Perhaps because you love them so much,’ said Frieda. ‘Perhaps that’s what makes it so overpowering.’

Bridget shot her a glance. ‘You’re being Frieda Klein now, aren’t you, not Carla? The Frieda Klein Sandy loved.’

Frieda rested her chin on Rudi’s head. He, too, was beginning to fall asleep. She could feel the rise and fall of his breath through his body. ‘It’s not enough,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘What? Love?’

‘I mean, it still doesn’t make sense that Sandy should become so desperate because I had left him and his life had gone awry.’

‘You don’t think losing someone can make you desperate?’

‘I’m a psychotherapist, remember? It’s what the loss uncovers in you that brings on despair, not the loss itself. Sandy was a deep-feeling man but he was also strong and quite good at protecting himself.’

‘You think?’

‘I do. Don’t you?’

‘He didn’t protect himself from you.’

‘But that’s not why he should have felt on the edge. You say that he wasn’t managing his life properly.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What did he mean by that?’

Bridget hesitated; she was still clearly reluctant to betray his confidences. ‘He felt guilty.’

‘Guilty about relationships with women?’

‘Mostly, I think.’

‘Can you say anything more about that?’

‘Do you think this has anything to do with his death?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He had a series of flings,’ said Bridget. ‘And he didn’t always end them very well.’

‘I met Veronica Ellison,’ said Frieda, thinking of the words Veronica had used to describe how Sandy had been with her at the end – cruel and indifferent, because he himself was wretched.

‘Yes.’ Bridget smiled. ‘Carla was very resourceful, wasn’t she?’

‘Do you know who the other women were?’

‘I know a few. There was a research assistant at the university – Bella. Bella Fisk. She was smitten, I think.’

‘But he wasn’t?’

‘No.’

‘And then there was someone called Kim. Or Kimberley. I can’t remember her last name.’

Frieda frowned. A memory wormed through her. ‘Was she a nanny?’

‘Another?’ said Bridget. ‘She might have been.’

‘His sister had a nanny called Kimberley.’

‘That’s the kind of thing he was doing.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘There were other women but I’ve no idea who. They were the ones he talked about to me.’

‘Is there anything else you can think of?’

‘Well.’ Bridget looked out of the window for a moment. ‘He was scared.’

‘Scared?’ This was what Veronica Ellison had also believed.

‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’

‘Why would I know that? We hadn’t really spoken for a long time.’ Frieda remembered her last sight of Sandy, outside the Warehouse, flinging a black bin bag of possessions at her, his face contorted.

‘He said he was trying to call you about it. He thought you’d be the one who would know what to do. Didn’t he talk to you about it?’

She looked into Bridget’s face. ‘I deleted all his messages.’

‘And you didn’t listen to them first?’

‘No.’

They sat in silence for a while, Rudi on Frieda’s lap, like a squashy warm parcel, and Tam between them, husky whimpers coming from between her parted lips.

‘You have no idea why he was scared?’ Frieda asked at last.

‘No. But he was right to be, wasn’t he?’

Frieda walked back to Elephant and Castle. It took her almost an hour. The day had turned to early evening, softly bright, and the streets were full of people in their summer clothes. Teenagers on skateboards rattled past. Couples, their arms entwined. The pavements outside pubs overflowed with drinkers.

She walked under the railway bridge and along the side of Thaxted House. She thought of her own little house, which in the summer was cool and clean and dim, as if it were under water. The longing she felt for it was so sharp it made her breath shallow. She unlocked the front door and stepped inside. She heard voices from the kitchen, talking, laughing. She went on to her own room and pushed open her door.

‘Frieda,’ said a voice, as she closed it.

She spun round.

‘Josef! What are you doing here?’

‘Nice woman let me in.’

Josef made shapes in front of his chest.

‘Ileana,’ said Frieda. ‘And you shouldn’t do that. You should say, “the brown-haired woman”. And you should go.’

‘I must help.’

‘No! You must not help. Go away.’

‘Frieda, I cannot bear.’

Frieda stepped forward and touched him on the shoulder, looking into his sad brown eyes. She could smell the vodka on his breath. ‘It’s all right. Who else knows I’m here?’

‘Nobody. I tell nobody. I ask Lev and he show me the place. I dodge and duck so nobody can follow. Not the police.’ He sniffed contemptuously. ‘Not anyone. I keep your secret.’ He laid his large hand over his heart. ‘I help you.’

‘Josef, listen. You more than anyone have too much to lose. They could deport you.’

‘Threat.’ He waved his hand dismissively. Then he bent down and took a bottle of vodka out of his canvas bag. ‘This is horrible place. Shall we have a drink?’

Frieda looked at the bottle in his outstretched hand, then around her at the dismal little room, the low sun glinting in through the smeary windows, the thin orange curtains hanging limply. She smiled suddenly. ‘Why not?’

Josef’s face brightened. He bent down once more and took out two shot glasses. ‘Always prepared,’ he said.

‘To homecomings,’ said Frieda.

They clinked glasses and drank.

About five seconds after Josef had left, there was a knock at Frieda’s door.

‘What?’

The door opened and Mira’s grinning face appeared in the gap.

‘He’s gone?’ she said.

‘Yes, he’s gone.’

‘He can stay,’ said Mira. ‘He can stay all the night.’

‘He’s just a friend.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mira, laughing. She came into the room and looked around for somewhere to sit. There wasn’t anywhere.

‘We talk about you, Ileana and me.’