Tilly sighed and switched off the TV. Graeme hadn’t called her and she had no idea what he was up to. She’d stared out of the window, watching for his car, and seen a police squad car drive past. It made her feel safe and slightly more confident. Kelly Porter had been as good as her word. She had promised to protect Alexandros too, and Tilly wondered if he was on the British army base yet.

She hadn’t experienced such boredom for years. She’d always been active. Even as a child, she couldn’t sit still, always wanting to dance, climb or run. Journalism suited her because of the erratic hours and the chance that she could be called to cover a story at any moment. She could find herself standing in the freezing cold watching firefighters deal with a factory blaze, or be woken up to rush to the scene of a major crime. She went from one location to another, interviewing, listening, and gathering nuggets of information from the public. She met with hostility, resentment, abuse and even violence.

She’d cut her teeth at a north Hertfordshire local newspaper that published once a week and was distributed for free, moving to a daily in Nottingham. Homesick and missing the stories a big city brought, she moved back to London and started out on her own. It paid the bills – just – and she dictated terms and conditions. It was just as widely varied (abortion to the price of French cheese), but without the constant threat to her safety. She almost laughed out loud at the irony. She’d never been in so much danger as she was now. Or at least that was what Graeme believed. Her own conviction was wearing thin.

The long hours of not being able to go outside made her mind wander, and she itched to do something. She knew Graeme didn’t want her sneaking out for a cigarette, even if she checked up and down the road first, but she hated smoking indoors. She craved nicotine and was finding that the reduced opportunity to smoke made it worse. She filled the hours writing notes and formulating a story around what she knew, but she couldn’t do that all day and all night; it was mentally impossible. She’d also had enough of catch-up TV and box sets. She remembered most of what was on her laptop and kept busy trying to write it all down.