WE’RE STANDING DOWN AT WATERLOO. SHE DIDN’T SHOW. WE NEED TO TALK. I WILL PHONE YOU LATER TONIGHT.

‘What is it?’ asked Keith, watching in dismay as Erika put her head in her hands.

‘She was a no-show…’ she said. ‘You’ve had nothing there from her? Nothing in the chat room?’

Keith shook his head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’m sure, look, I’m logged in…’

Erika had a terrible sinking feeling, like a huge, heavy cannon ball was weighing her stomach down. She rubbed at her sweat-drenched face.

‘Look, Keith, we need to turn some of these lights off. It’s unbearable in here…’

‘No! I’m sorry, no. I told you, I don’t like the dark…’

Erika looked at the time. She felt completely devastated.

‘What happens now?’ asked Keith.

‘I’m waiting for my senior officer to call back… Later tonight…’

‘What happens to me?’

‘Um, I don’t know. But I stick by what I said to you.’ Erika looked at Keith in the huge wheelchair. She had recently helped him to change his oxygen tank.

She made a decision. ‘I need to step outside for an hour or so… Can I trust you here? Your computer is still being monitored. I take it you’re not going to run away?’

‘What do you think?’ he said.

‘Okay. Here is my mobile phone number,’ she said, scribbling it on a piece of paper. ‘I’m going to go for some air… Do you want some food? I don’t know, do you eat chips?’

Keith’s face lit up.

‘Battered sausage, chips and mushy peas, please. The place opposite the pier is the best. My carer always gets them from there.’

Erika came out onto the cool promenade. The sun was sinking down into the sea and a light breeze was coming off the shore. She stared at the text from Marsh again and tried to call him. Her call was cancelled, it went straight to voicemail.

‘Shit,’ she muttered. She set off towards a bar she’d seen further down on the promenade. The front windows were folded back and it was crowded with lairy, red-faced old men and drunken women. The ‘Macarena’ blared out of the sound system. Erika fought her way to the bar and ordered a large glass of wine. The barmaid was run off her feet and served her quickly, slamming a glass down on the bar.

‘Can I take this on the beach?’ asked Erika. The girl didn’t answer, just rolled her eyes, pulled down a plastic pint glass and tipped in the wine.

‘And could I please have some ice?’ said Erika.

She took her drink, bought some more cigarettes from the machine and came back down onto the beach. The tide had gone out quite far, and she sat back on the shingle, looking out at the expanse of wet sand. As she was lighting a cigarette, her phone rang. She pushed her pint of wine into the shingle and answered the call. Her eyes went wide as she listened to the voice on the other end.

81

The sun had now sunk below the horizon and a cold breeze blew across the street. Simone moved quickly along the pavement beside the row of houses. She carried a small backpack, and she was dressed in her black running gear.

A few of the street lamps were broken. She moved faster when she hit an arc of orange sodium light, relaxing again when she was back in the shadows. She felt jumpy. It was early evening, and the row of terraced houses she moved past seemed to teem with life. Lights came on, music was being played. A row was kicking off in a top-floor window where the curtains were open and just a bare bulb hung from the ceiling.

Simone kept her head down when a man approached her from the other direction. He was tall and thin and moving quickly. Her heart began to beat fast and she felt her blood pressure increase. He was coming straight at her. Even her scar began to throb, as if it were engorged with blood. It wasn’t until the man was almost upon her that she saw he was also dressed in running gear. He loped past without giving her a second glance, his headphones giving off a tinny sound of music. She realised she had to calm down, get a hold of herself.

Simone knew the house number she was looking for but didn’t have to strain too hard in the darkness to find it on the brick walls. The numbers were painted gaudily on the wheelie bins which filled the small concrete front gardens.

She counted down the numbers, feeling none of the usual rush, none of the anger and excitement.

And then she arrived at the house. She approached the window, took a deep breath and placed her small hands on the sill. Looking around, she heaved herself up.