‘My dad had the hots for you. How mad is that?’ She gasped. ‘Oh, my God! In a different universe, you could have been MY STEPMUM.’

We gazed at each other in mock-horror and somehow this fact swelled between us until a bubble of merriment lodged in my chest. I began to laugh, the kind of laugh that verges on hysteria, that makes your stomach hurt, where the mere act of looking at someone sets you off again.

‘Did you have sex?’

And that killed it.

‘Okay. This conversation has now got weird.’

Lily pulled a face. ‘Your whole relationship sounds weird.’

‘It wasn’t at all. It … it …’

It was suddenly too much: the rooftop, the questions, the joint, the memories of Will. We seemed to be conjuring him out of the air between us: his smile, his skin, the feel of his face against mine, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. I let my head fall slightly between my knees. Breathe, I told myself.

‘Louisa?’

‘What?’

‘Did he always plan to go to that place? Dignitas?’

I nodded. I repeated the word to myself, trying to quell my rising sense of panic. In. Out. Just breathe.

‘Did you try to change his mind?’

‘Will was … stubborn.’

‘Did you argue about it?’

I swallowed. ‘Right up until the last day.’

The last day. Why had I said that? I closed my eyes.

When I finally opened them again, she was watching me.

‘Were you with him when he died?’

Our eyes locked. The young are terrifying, I thought. They are without boundaries. They fear nothing. I could see the next question forming on her lips, the faint searching in her gaze. But perhaps she was not as brave as I’d thought.

Finally she dropped her gaze. ‘So when are you going to tell his parents about me?’

My heart lurched. ‘This week. I’ll call this week.’

She nodded, turned her face away so that I couldn’t see her expression. I watched as she inhaled again. And then, abruptly, she dropped the joint through the bars of the fire-escape steps, stood up and climbed inside without a backward look. I waited until my legs felt as if they could support me again, then followed her through the window.

CHAPTER NINE

I called on Tuesday lunchtime, when a joint one-day strike by French and German air-traffic control had left the bar almost empty. I waited until Richard had disappeared to the wholesaler’s, then stood out on the concourse, outside the last Ladies before security, and searched my phone for the number I had never been able to delete.

The phone rang three, four times, and just for a moment I was filled with the overwhelming urge to press END CALL. But then a man’s voice answered, his vowels clipped, familiar. ‘Hello?’

‘Mr Traynor? It – it’s Lou.’

‘Lou?’

‘Louisa Clark.’

A short silence. I could hear his memories thudding down on him along with the simple fact of my name and felt oddly guilty. The last time I had seen him had been at Will’s graveside, a prematurely aged man, repeatedly straightening his shoulders as he struggled under the weight of his grief.

‘Louisa. Well … Goodness. This is – How are you?’

I shifted to allow Violet to sway past with her trolley. She gave me a knowing smile, adjusting her purple turban with her free hand. I noticed she had little Union Jacks painted on her fingernails.

‘I’m very well, thank you. And how are you?’

‘Oh – you know. Actually, I’m very well, too. Circumstances have changed a little since we last saw each other, but it’s all … you know …’

That temporary and uncharacteristic loss of bonhomie almost caused me to falter. I took a deep breath. ‘Mr Traynor, I’m ringing because I really need to talk to you about something.’

‘I thought Michael Lawler had sorted out all the financial matters.’ His tone altered just slightly.

‘It’s not to do with money.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Mr Traynor, I had a visitor a short time ago and it’s someone I think you need to meet.’

A woman bumped into my legs with her wheeled case, and mouthed an apology.

‘Okay. There’s no simple way of doing this, so I’m just going to say it. Will had a daughter and she turned up on my doorstep. She’s desperate to meet you.’

A long silence this time.

‘Mr Traynor?’

‘I’m sorry. Can you repeat what you just said?’

‘Will had a daughter. He didn’t know about her. The mother is an old girlfriend of his, from university, who took it upon herself not to tell him. He had a daughter and she tracked me down and she really wants to meet you. She’s sixteen. Her name is Lily.’

‘Lily?’

‘Yes. I’ve spoken to her mother and she seems genuine. A woman called Miller. Tanya Miller.’

‘I – I don’t remember her. But Will did have an awful lot of girlfriends.’

Another long silence. When he spoke again his voice cracked. ‘Will had … a daughter?’

‘Yes. Your granddaughter.’

‘You – you really think she is his daughter?’

‘I’ve met her mother, and heard what she had to say and, yes, I really think she is.’