Lindsay lay still, curiously aware of the texture of the short silk fibers of the rug against the skin of her uninjured hand and arm. She felt strangely distanced from her pain, being more conscious of the shallowness of her breathing and the fat blobs of sweat running down her forehead and cheeks. The whole upper left quadrant of her body felt so strange, so alien, it might as well have belonged to someone else for all the connection she could make between it and her past experience. “I love you,” she said, aware of Sophie’s hands moving over her body. It came out as a croak, but Sophie understood.

“You’re going to be all right,” she said gently. “I love you too. Even if you are a complete headbanger.”

“Alive,” Lindsay croaked.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better a live headbanger than a dead sensible head. Don’t talk now, darling, save your strength. You’ll need it if we’re going to get out of here before the execution squad arrive.” Sophie wiped the sweat from Lindsay’s face with a crumpled tissue, then stood up. “I’m going to see if I can find a trolley or something that I can wheel you out of here on,” she said.

“No,” Lindsay grunted, forcing herself on to one elbow. “Not time. For that. I can. Walk. If you just. Help me.”

Sighing in exasperation at her partner’s refusal to accept defeat, Sophie crouched beside her and pushed her into a sitting position. Then she slung Lindsay’s good arm round her shoulder, held on to her wrist with both hands and tried to straighten up. It was a backbreaking job which Sophie would never have managed if the lie she’d told Danny about her back had been the truth. Lindsay’s feet scrabbled uselessly under her as Sophie dragged her upright. Finally, they stood together in the middle of the room, Lindsay listing into Sophie, swaying slightly, but managing to keep her feet. The door seemed a very long way away.

“Okay,” Sophie said. “One step at a time.” They managed a jerky movement in the right direction, then a stumble, a stuttering correction and, after what seemed an eternity, a few coordinated steps.

They had almost reached the door when the constipated quacking of a man’s voice coming through a loudhailer split the quiet of the mews. “Armed police. The building is surrounded. Come to the front door and throw out your weapons. I repeat, armed police. Come to the front door and throw out your weapons.”

The voice stopped them in their tracks. “Oh, shit,” Lindsay mumbled.