Georgia dreaded prison as she wondered how badly the explosion had hurt the prime minister. But it was Zac’s childish behaviour that overwhelmed her. Losing his temper and squaring off with Gerard, like two kids in a school lunch line … Sophie used to joke about Zac’s socialist pals, his week-long sulks and two-hour phone calls to his mother in Hong Kong. Zac boasted about egging prime ministers, getting arrested on demos and being wanted by the Chinese authorities. And the day Sophie died, when he turned up drunk and bloody after a fight in a pub …

Zac’s a dick, like Rolf and all his idiot mates. How did I not see that? Why did I follow him into this?

Georgia’s brisk stride was weighted by the dark heave that comes before crying. She imagined escaping consequences by jumping in front of the bus barrelling down the road. She winced when she picked out her phone and saw Missed call – Dad. She imagined him in his boxers, watching his daughter throw her life away on the kitchen telly.

Part of Georgia wanted to call back. Tell Dad she was sorry and that she loved him, but her practical side won out. Wendy answered breathlessly.

‘Honey, where are you?’

Georgia read from the bus stop up ahead. ‘Farringdon Road, towards King’s Cross. Is it on the news? Is anyone dead?’

‘They’re saying the French ambassador has serious burns.’

‘The prime minister?’ Georgia asked, glancing over her shoulder at what she feared was a cop car but was just a regular white estate.

‘Second-degree burns to his face and neck,’ Wendy answered. ‘But they arrested Zac and Gerard with stab wounds. What the hell?’

‘Zac went nuts,’ Georgia explained. ‘He thinks Gerard swapped the paint for an explosive without telling us.’

‘Did he?’

‘I have my doubts,’ Georgia said, lowering her voice as a holding-hands couple came the other way. ‘I think there would have had to be something extra fitted on the drone to spark the explosion. But Gerard said the paint was flammable. Something could have sparked it accidentally.’

‘BBC said one of the PM’s bodyguards shot a stun gun at the drone as it approached.’

‘That could do it,’ Georgia realised, stopping by the kerb at a busy junction.

‘Gerard got his bomb by accident,’ Wendy said, aghast.

‘And pliers rammed in his eye,’ Georgia added, hurrying across as the green man popped up. ‘That hotel room was like a horror movie.’

‘We’re all in a lot less trouble if we can prove the explosion was an accident,’ Wendy said. Georgia heard a doorbell ring in the background. ‘That’s probably Kamila.’

‘Where now?’ Georgia asked, as she heard Wendy walking downstairs to answer a door. ‘I could get a taxi over to you? I don’t remember the address …’

Georgia heard a big crash down the line. Then a thud and shouts.

‘Police, police, back to the wall, hands on head.’