‘You know that’s my camping kit?’ he said, pointing.

‘As if. Black people and the outdoors,’ Jemima smirked, play-punching Oscar.

He stared back at her rubbing his arm, ‘I’m black.’

‘I mean, of course. Jokes.’ Jemima nodded vigorously as she and Meagan watched Oscar collect up what Simi had strewn everywhere in her desperate bid to hide, their alarm rising.

He placed everything in the trunk then reached for the ground sheet. Without thinking, Meagan leapt forward, wrapping her arms around him. She buried her head in his chest, her face contorted with sadness, ‘I’m going to miss you!’ she wailed.

Oscar froze looking down at Meagan before nervously patting her head.

‘Don’t touch the weave,’ Meagan corrected before returning to her wailing.

Oscar tried to wriggle free but like a Chinese finger puzzle, the more he did, the tighter Meagan’s grip became. Just as he got an arm free, Jemima clamped herself to him from behind.

‘I’ll miss you too!’

‘I…’ began Oscar, confused, ‘I didn’t think you liked me.’

‘We don’t like you, Oscar. We love you,’ Meagan said looking up at him adoringly, ‘and it would really help if we could have a moment alone – for closure.’

‘With her things… in the basement?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Meagan suggested as she led Oscar to the stairs, Jemima still clamped to his back.

‘Okay. I’ll… I’ll be in the flat,’ he said, climbing the steps.

Meagan watched Oscar’s feet disappear and once he was out of sight, she whipped the groundsheet away where Simi cowered, brow crinkled and eyes damp.

Meagan raised a silencing finger, ‘No, babes. No time!’

Simi’s tears promptly retreated as Meagan, with Navy SEAL efficiency, including her own tactical hand gestures, hustled them and Simi’s remaining possessions up the stairs and out.

‘Go, go, go!’ she barked as they bustled Simi into the back of her Mercedes like a diplomat in hostile territory.

And once Jemima had made sure everyone had their seatbelts on, Meagan floored the accelerator, ‘Where to, Simster?’

Simi stared blankly back at Meagan. Typical, she seethed. No plan.

Chapter 7

Jemima

Meagan sped through a set of changing traffic lights, giving the finger to a motorist who’d dared to use the road at the same time as her. She rounded a corner crushing Jemima against the passenger door.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?’ Jemima whimpered.

Meagan grabbed her water bottle. ‘You drive like a blind cabbie in a funeral procession.’

Jemima inhaled in shock. ‘I am an excellent driver!’

‘Please. You get overtaken by rollerbladers,’ Meagan said swigging from the bottle.

‘At this rate, we’ll end up in our own funeral procession,’ Jemima grumbled as her boring life flashed before her.

Simi, who had been sat on the back seat in a deathly silence, finally spoke. ‘He knew I was there. He could feel me.’

‘He could probably smell you,’ mumbled Meagan.

Jemima threw a stern look across the car at Meagan as she violently swerved around a cyclist.