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‘Oh … um. Not quite.’ I try for a more natural smile, but the edges of my eyes are tight. ‘You know what’s good here. I’ll have whatever you’re having.’

Olly turns to the waitress – a young girl in a black apron who’s just appeared at the table. ‘My beautiful fiancée here will have the sea bass,’ he tells her, all puffed up with the control I’ve given him.

I wonder if Olly knows that often I don’t like what he orders.

I suppose a better question is: does he care?

Kate

6.30 a.m.

Ihold a Tupperware tub of Kellogg’s All-Bran in one hand, an apple in the other. No milk, but I bought two pints yesterday so there should be plenty in the work fridge. Breakfast in the office again.

‘Good morning,’ I call out, praying Tessa isn’t here yet.

‘Who’s that?’ Tessa calls from her corner office.

Oh no.

Tessa’s door is open. I see her savaging a giant chocolate croissant, pastry exploding over her keyboard. Several empty cappuccino cups decorate her desk.

‘Hi Tessa.’ I sit on my thinly padded swivel chair.

‘Whois it?’ Tessa barks, leaning back, affording herself a full view.

I give a little wave.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ Tessa considers this, then takes another bite of croissant, more pastry flakes exploding. ‘Here to prepare for the multi-disciplinary meeting? I was worried you’d let me down on that.’

‘I’m writing up last night’s Tom Kinnock visit.’

‘Oh,Kate.’ Tessa lays on some parental sounding disappointment. ‘Failing to plan—’

‘Is planning to fail. Yes, I know. That was one of my catchphrases at university. But if I don’t write up the Kinnock visit now, I could forget important details. This case has been messed around enough. I want to do it properly.’

An understatement.

The Tom Kinnock documents make me, a compulsively organised person, feel physically sick.

It’s like someone has jumbled everything up on purpose.

Ten different social workers have been involved with the Kinnock family. Seven left without doing a proper handover.

Patchy information. Missing reports. No wonder the custody decision took so long.

Suddenly, there’s a slap of papers and Tessa looms over me, hands on hips. ‘You need to read through all sixty pages in the next half hour, Kate, or there’ll be hell to pay. They’vefinallyshared Leanne Neilson’s medical records. She’s been at that doctors’ surgery every week, near enough, making up story after story. It’s all there. She brought in the older boy, saying he gets backache.’

‘I can only do one thing at a time, Tessa,’ I say, pushing the report bundles to one side. ‘Tom seemed tired during my visit,’ I murmur, tapping my keyboard. ‘The house was somewhat chaotic, washing-up in the sink …’

I can’t type without talking out loud. It’s one of my most irritating habits, especially when I’m in a shared office space. Even if I try really hard, sounds come out.

‘What’s that?’ Tessa asks, reading over my shoulder. ‘Next steps … visiting Tom Kinnock’s school?Thisweek? What’s theschoolgoing to tell you? He’s only been there five minutes.’

‘The usual sort of thing. How Tom is in class. Whether he turns up on time. If he seems withdrawn. But I also want to ask about the marks on Tom’s arm.’

‘How could he have got them at school?’ asks Tessa. ‘If they were injection marks.’

‘The marks had faded by my visit,’ I say. ‘We don’t know anything for certain.’