“No,” said Robin, now worried. “What’s going on, Ilsa? You sound terrible.”

Then she remembered that it was Valentine’s Day and registered the fact that Ilsa didn’t know where her husband was. Something more than worry overtook Robin: it was fear. Nick and Ilsa were the happiest couple she knew. The five weeks she’d lived with them after leaving Matthew had restored some of Robin’s battered faith in marriage. They couldn’t split up: not Nick and Ilsa.

“It’s nothing,” said Ilsa.

“Tell me,” Robin insisted. “What—?”

Wrenching sobs issued through the phone.

“Ilsa, what’s happened?”

“I… I miscarried.”

“Oh God,” gasped Robin. “Oh no. Ilsa, I’m so sorry.”

She knew that Nick and Ilsa had been trying for some years to have a child. Nick never talked about it and Ilsa, only rarely. Robin had had no idea she was pregnant. She suddenly remembered Ilsa not drinking, on the night of her birthday.

“It happened—in the—in the supermarket.”

“Oh no,” whispered Robin. “Oh God.”

“I started bleeding… at court… we’re in the middle of a… mas-sive case… couldn’t leave…” said Ilsa. “And then… and then… heading home…”

She became incoherent. Tears started in Robin’s eyes as she sat with the phone clamped to her ear.

“… knew… something bad… so I got out of the cab… and I went… into the supermarket… and I was in… the loo… and I felt… felt… and then… a little… blob… a tiny bod—bod—body…”

Robin put her face in her hands.

“And… I didn’t know… what to do… but… there was a woman… in the loo with… and she… it had happened… to her… so kind…”

She dissolved again into incoherence. Snorts, gulps and hiccups filled Robin’s ear before words became intelligible again.

“And Nick said… it was my fault. Said… all my fault… working… too hard… I didn’t take… enough care… didn’t put… the baby first.”

“He didn’t,” said Robin. She liked Nick. She couldn’t believe he’d have said such a thing to his wife.

“He did, he said I should’ve… come home… that I… put w—work… before the b—baby—”

“Ilsa, listen to me,” said Robin. “If you got pregnant once, you can get pregnant again.”

“No, no, no, I can’t,” said Ilsa, dissolving again into tears, “it was our third go at IVF. We agreed… agreed… no more after this. No more.”

The doorbell rang.

“Ilsa, I’ve got to get the door, it might be Cormoran—”

“Yes, yes, go… it’s fine… it’s all fine.”

Before Robin could stop her, Ilsa had hung up. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Robin ran downstairs and flung open the door.

But naturally, it wasn’t Strike. He’d never arrived on time for any out-of-work event to which she’d invited him, whether drinks, house-warming party or even her wedding. Instead she found herself facing Jonathan, the brother who most resembled her: tall and slender, with the same strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. The resemblance was even closer this evening, because both siblings looked peaky. Jonathan, too, had shadows under his eyes, not to mention a slightly gray cast to his skin.

“Hey, Robs.”

“Hi,” said Robin, accepting Jonathan’s hug and trying to act pleased to see him, “come in.”

“This is Courtney,” said Jonathan, “and that’s Kyle.”

“Hiya,” giggled Courtney, who was holding a can. She was an exquisitely pretty girl, with large dark eyes and long black hair, and she seemed slightly tipsy. Kyle, who accidentally bashed Robin with his large rucksack on entering, was a couple of inches taller than she was, skinny, with a high-fade haircut, large, bloodshot eyes and a neatly groomed beard.

“Hi there,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling down at Robin. A stranger might have thought he was welcoming her to his flat, rather than the other way around. “Robin, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Robin, forcing a smile. “Lovely to meet you. Come upstairs; we’re eating on the top floor.”

Lost in thoughts of Ilsa, she followed the three students. Courtney and Kyle were giggling and whispering together, Courtney a little clumsy on her feet. On reaching the living area, Robin introduced all three guests to Max, while Kyle dumped his none-too-clean rucksack on their host’s cream sofa.

“Thanks very much for letting us stay,” said Jonathan to Max, who’d laid the table for six. “Something smells really good.”

“I’m vegan,” piped up Courtney. “But I can just eat, like, pasta, or whatever.”

“I’ll do some pasta, don’t you worry about that,” Robin told Max hastily, as she surreptitiously lifted Kyle’s dirty rucksack off the sofa, trying not to make a big deal of what she was doing. Courtney promptly knelt on the sofa with her damp trainers still on, and said to Robin,

“Is this the sofa bed?”

Robin nodded.

“We’ll have to sort out who sleeps where,” said Courtney, with a glance at Kyle. Robin thought she saw her brother’s smile falter.

“Actually, why don’t we put all the bags in my bedroom for now?” Robin suggested, as Jonathan swung his holdall onto the sofa, too. “And keep this area clear for after dinner?”

Neither Courtney nor Kyle showed any inclination to move, so Robin and Jonathan took the bags downstairs together. Once they were in Robin’s room, Jonathan took a box of chocolates out of his holdall and gave them to his sister.

“Thanks, Jon, that’s lovely. D’you feel OK? You look a bit pale.”

“I was blunted last night. Listen, Robs… don’t say anything to Courtney about her being, like, my girlfriend or whatever.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good, because…”

“You’ve split up?” Robin suggested sympathetically.

“We weren’t ever—we hooked up a couple of times,” muttered Jonathan, “but—I dunno, I think she might be into Kyle now.”

Courtney’s laugh rang out from the upper floor. With a perfunctory smile at his sister, Jonathan returned to his friends.

Robin tried to call Ilsa back, but her number was engaged. Hoping this meant that she’d located Nick, Robin texted:

Just tried to call you. Please let me know what’s going on. I’m worried about you. Robin xxx

She went back upstairs and started cooking pumpkin ravioli for Courtney. Apparently sensing that the casserole would soon be leaving the oven, Wolfgang slunk around Max’s and Robin’s ankles. Checking her watch, Robin noted that Strike was already fifteen minutes late. His record was an hour and a half. She tried, without much success, not to feel angry. After the way he’d treated her for being late this morning…

Robin was just draining the ravioli when the doorbell finally rang.

“D’you want me—?” said Max, who was pouring drinks for Jonathan, Courtney and Kyle.

“No, I’ll do it,” said Robin shortly.

When she opened the door, she knew immediately that Strike, who was peering down at her with unfocused eyes, was drunk.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said thickly. “Can I have a pee?”

She stood back to let him pass. He reeked of Doom Bar and cigarettes. Tense as she was, Robin noted that he hadn’t thought to bring Max a bottle of anything, in spite of the fact he’d apparently spent all afternoon in the pub.

“The bathroom’s there,” she said, pointing. He disappeared inside. Robin waited on the landing. He seemed to take a very long time.

“We’re eating up here,” she said, when at last he emerged.

“More stairs?” mumbled Strike.

When they reached the open-plan living area, he seemed to pull himself together. He shook hands with Max and Jonathan in turn and said quite coherently that he was pleased to meet them. Courtney temporarily abandoned Kyle and bounced over to say hello to the famous detective, and Strike looked positively enthusiastic as he took in her looks. Suddenly very conscious of her own washed-out and puffy-eyed appearance, Robin turned back to the kitchen area to put Courtney’s ravioli in a bowl for her. Behind her, she heard Courtney saying,

“And this is Kyle.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the detective?” Kyle said, determinedly unimpressed.

Jonathan, Courtney, Kyle and Max already had drinks, so Robin poured herself a large gin and tonic. While she was adding ice, a cheerful Max came back into the kitchen to fetch Strike a beer, then got the casserole out of the oven and onto the table. Wolfgang whined as the object of his devotion was lifted out of his reach.

While Max served everyone at the table, Robin set Courtney’s ravioli down in front of her.

“Oh God, no, wait,” said Courtney. “Is this vegan? Where’s the packet?”

“In the bin,” said Robin.

“Tuh,” said Courtney, and she got up and walked into the kitchen. Max and Robin were the only two people at the table whose eyes didn’t automatically follow Courtney. Robin downed half her gin before picking up her knife and fork.

“No, it’s OK,” called Courtney, from beside the bin. “It’s vegan.”