‘Listen, Osc, how long have you known me?’ I try to fix his gaze, but he keeps his attention on his sandwich.

‘Hey? Come on.’ I give him my best smile, one hand tracing a finger through my hair.

‘You know me, the reason I’m tired is because I’m worried. I’m really worried, because I know something bad has happened to that girl.’ I move my head to catch his eye, his face struggling to resist mine. ‘You know I wouldn’t be like this if I wasn’t sure something happened, right?’

He looks up, his eyes flinching as our gaze meets. ‘It’s not that I doubt your certainty, Issy …’

‘Please, Oscar.’ Without thinking, I reach out and touch his hand. My fingers rest there for a moment, and then I pull them back, the memory of the contact too much to bear.

‘Seriously. I don’t understand why you’re being like this, it’s like you don’t want to find out what happened to her.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ he spits, the people at the table next to us falling quiet.

Lowering his voice, he continues, ‘You don’t understand why I’m being like this?’ His eyes scan my face.

‘Listen to yourself! Take a look in a mirror every now and again! You look like shit. You look ill. You’re supposed to be taking things easy …’

‘Oh, come on, Oscar …’

‘No. You come on. You listen to me. Whatever is with this crusade you’re on, whatever this is, it has to stop. Now.’

I stare back at him, the heat rising in my cheeks.

‘What?’ A brief silence falls between us. It is Oscar who speaks next.

‘I’m sorry.’

He looks away, sniffing hard. My cheeks feel as though they’ve been slapped, my skin pricking with rage and hurt and confusion and disbelief, all wrapped up in one chaotic bundle.

Oscar’s face is flushed, his lips locked into line. I can almost hear him grinding his teeth.

‘You know what?’ I say, standing and picking up my bag. ‘Fuck you.’

Chapter 24

Gabriela

The sky was an ominous grey as she stepped out onto the pavement, walking along Parliament Street and turning left onto Victoria Embankment. Even the London Eye, which hovered above the Thames, seemed different somehow, each carriage rocking precariously as if at any moment it might fall, the contents smashing onto the ground, sending glass and body-parts skidding in every direction.

The reality of what was happening was like a river splashing at her heels as she walked out of King Charles Street for the last time, the water rising steadily as she passed New Scotland Yard, her mind playing back what had just happened, on a loop, searching for a way to press pause and rewind.