She thinks of the press cuttings on Floyd’s desk. She thinks of the carrot cake they’d shared in that café near her hairdresser, the overpowering certainty of him as he’d walked in the door and found his way to her. And then she thinks of the phone call from Blue. Your boyfriend. His aura is all wrong. It’s dark. And she feels it, right there and then. Stark and obvious. You’re not who you say you are, she suddenly thinks, you’re a fake.
