There was a massive crash and a yelp. I nearly jumped out of my skin as Digby shot out of a pile of butcher’s crates. ‘Oh, thank God.’ Falling to my knees, I grabbed him before he could run off again, burying my face in his back. ‘You silly boy. You really scared me.’

Mrs Forlani was shaking her head fervently at me, her bulgy eyes all wild and starey. ‘No, no, Maggie. It was not an ’e outside your flat. Mio Dio, ma perche’ questi inglesi non mi capiscono mai?’

Or perhaps it was me that was mad. That was more likely, in fact.

‘Ho detto una donna, intendevo una donna! Buon Dio!’ The fluid Italian washed over me as I looked up vacantly from the pavement. ‘Most definitely not a man,’ Mrs Forlani finished crossly, wrapping her dressing-gown tighter around her drooping bosom.

‘Get the hell up, Maggie.’ Alex appeared above me. ‘It’s wet down there, for God’s sake.’ He tried to help me up but I felt all crumpled, like a rag-doll, quite happy to be on the floor, next to the dog’s sinewy warmth. I would just lie on the pavement for a while and let all this hideous strangeness go on above me. Without me. But Alex leaned down and grabbed my hand, pulled me to my feet.

‘Ouch,’ I complained. He forced me to stand; otherwise I think I might have lain down again. Mrs Forlani had recommenced her babbling. ‘Sorry, but you’ve lost me.’ I looked at her.

‘It was most definitely una ragazza that I saw. A girl who was trying to enter your flat.’

And as I stood there gaping at her, trying to comprehend it all, Stefano Costana rounded the corner in a cheap shiny blue suit, his belly straining against his pink shirt.

‘Morning all! Sorry if we’re late,’ he said cheerfully. A curl of dark hair poked through the gaping buttons above his waistband. I looked at Alex; Alex looked rather ashen. My mouth dropped open further. Pitter-pattering behind Costana, her face framed perfectly by her black fur hood, was my worst nightmare.

And as she smiled winningly at us, her hood fell back, and I heard my own sharp intake of breath echo in my ears. It was Fay standing before me, but with newly short hair, cut just like mine and dyed the same shade of red.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘What the hell is she doing here?’ I asked no one in particular. And as no one answered, I asked Fay herself. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

She smiled beatifically. ‘I’ve come to see your flat.’

‘My flat,’ I repeated numbly. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve heard it’s lovely.’

‘It’s not lovely any more. It’s a tip. Literally.’

‘I don’t understand.’ She frowned very slightly. ‘It looks very nice on the details. It is for sale, isn’t it?’