‘Louisa.’

‘I should have been stronger. I should have understood her better. I should have thought harder about how young she is. Was. Oh, God, if something’s happened I’ll never forgive myself. And out there right now some innocent dog-walker has no idea that he’s about to have his life ruined –’

‘Louisa.’ Sam put his hand on my leg. ‘Stop. You’re going round in circles. Irritating as she is, it’s entirely possible Tanya Houghton-Miller’s right and Lily will coast in or ring your bell in about three hours’ time and we’ll all feel like fools and forget what’s happened until it all starts again.’

‘But why won’t she answer her phone? She must know I’m worried.’

‘Perhaps that’s why she’s ignoring you.’ He gave me a wry look. ‘She may be enjoying making you sweat a little. Look, there’s not much more we can do tonight. And I’ve got to go. I have an early shift.’ He cleared away the plates and put them in the sink, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Not exactly the most fun start to a relationship.’

He lowered his chin. ‘This is a relationship now?’

I felt myself colour. ‘Well, I didn’t mean –’

‘I’m kidding.’ He reached out a hand and pulled me to him. ‘I quite enjoy your determined attempts to convince me you’re basically just using me for sex.’

He smelt good. Even when he smelt faintly of anaesthetic, he smelt good. He kissed the top of my head. ‘We’ll find her,’ he said, as he left.

After he’d gone, I climbed up onto the roof. I sat in the dark, inhaling the scent of the jasmine she’d trained up the edge of the water tank, and ran my hand softly over the tiny purple heads of the aubretia that tumbled over the terracotta planters. I looked over the parapet, scanned the winking streets of the city and my legs didn’t even tremble. I texted her again, then got ready for bed, feeling the silence of the flat close in around me.

I checked my phone for the millionth time, and then my email, just in case. Nothing. But there was one from Nathan:

Congratulations! Old man Gopnik told me this morning he’s going to offer you the job! See you in NY, mate!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lily

Peter is waiting again. Out of the window, she sees him standing against his car. He spots her, gestures up and mouths, ‘You owe me.’

Lily opens the window, glances across the road to where Samir is putting out a fresh box of oranges. ‘Leave me alone, Peter.’

‘You know what’ll happen …’

‘I’ve given you enough. Just leave me alone, okay?’

‘Bad move, Lily.’ He raises an eyebrow. He waits just long enough for her to feel uncomfortable. Lou will be home in half an hour. He hangs around so often she’s pretty sure he knows this. Eventually he climbs back into his car, and pulls out onto the main road without looking. As he drives off he holds his phone out of the driver’s window. A message: Bad move, Lily.

Spin the bottle. Such an innocent-sounding game. It had been her and four girls from her school and they had come up to London on an exeat. They had stolen lipsticks from Boots and bought too-short skirts in Top Shop and got into nightclubs for free because they were young and cute and doormen didn’t ask too many questions if there were five of you and you were young and cute, and inside, over rum and Cokes, they had met Peter and his friends.

They had ended up in someone’s flat in Marylebone at two a.m. She couldn’t entirely remember how they had got there. Everyone was sitting in a circle, smoking and drinking. She had said yes to everything that was offered her. Rihanna on the music system. A blue beanbag that smelt of Febreze. Nicole had been ill in the bathroom, the idiot. Time had slipped; two thirty, three seventeen, four … She lost track. Then someone had suggested Truth or Dare.

The bottle spun, careered into an ashtray, tipping butts and ash onto the carpet. Someone’s truth, the girl she didn’t know: on holiday the previous year she had engaged in phone sex with her ex-boyfriend while her grandmother slept in the twin bed beside her. The others reeled in fake horror. Lily had laughed.

‘Niche,’ said someone.

Peter had watched her the whole time. She had been flattered at first: he was the best-looking boy there by miles. A man, even. When he looked at her she refused to drop her eyes. She wasn’t going to be like the other girls.

‘Spin!’

She had shrugged when it pointed to her. ‘Dare,’ she had said. ‘Always dare.’

‘Lily never says no to anything,’ said Jemima. Now she wonders whether there was something in the way she had looked at Peter when she said it.

‘Okay. You know what that means.’

‘Seriously?’

‘You can’t do that!’ Pippa was holding her hands to her face in the way she did when she was being dramatic.

‘Truth, then.’

‘Nah. I hate truth.’ So what? She knew these boys would be chicken. She stood, nonchalantly. ‘Where. Here?’

‘Oh, my God, Lily.’

‘Spin the bottle,’ said one of the boys.

It hadn’t occurred to her to be nervous. She was a bit woozy and, anyway, she quite liked standing there, unbothered, while the other girls clapped and squealed and acted like idiots. They were such fakes. The same girls who would whack anyone on the hockey pitch and talk about politics and what careers in law and marine biology they were aiming for became stupid and giggly and girly in the presence of boys, flicking their hair and doing their lipstick, like they had spontaneously filleted out the interesting parts of themselves.

‘Peter …’

‘Oh, my God. Pete, mate. It’s you.’

The boys, all catcalling and crowing to hide their disappointment, or perhaps relief, that it wasn’t them. Peter, climbing to his feet, his narrow cat’s eyes meeting hers. Different from the others: his accent spoke of somewhere tougher.

‘Here?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Next door.’ He gestured towards the bedroom.

She stepped neatly over the girls’ legs as they walked through to the next room. One of the girls grabbed at her ankle, telling her not to, and she shook her off. She walked with a faint swagger, feeling their eyes on her as she left. Dare. Always dare.