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I held her gaze.

‘I’m concerned about him,’ I said. ‘And this—’ I slid the Polaroid up alongside the note. ‘Whatever this is, I’m concerned about this too.’

Sophie stared right back at me. Then she folded her arms and began searching my face, my expression, picking her way inside.

‘Is this about his thing?’ she asked at last. ‘His whole entropy, end of the world – thing?’

‘Just look at it.’

It took a moment, but Sophie’s eyes finally dropped from mine to the picture in front of her, perhaps seeing it properly for the first time. A pair of neat little frown lines appeared above her eyebrows. She picked up the Polaroid and took some time to look at the thing, like a jeweller with a stone. She tilted and turned it, this way and that way, held it up to the light, investigated the back, and then finally put it back down next to Andrew’s note. She nudged the picture with her index finger – tap, tap, tap – until the two objects were perfectly aligned, then considered them both for a while in silence. When she spoke again, it was in a quiet, even voice, without looking up from the table: