The car’s passenger-side door was still open. And on the seat was a bag he didn’t recognize. He reached over this bag to check the notebook was still in the glovebox—it was. Jack kneeled heavily onto the edge of the footwell.

. . . not stealing, you prick . . . a gift.

Using his uninjured arm, Jack unzipped the bag. Inside were one hundred bundles of fifty-pound notes. Jack picked up one of the bundles and, with bloodied fingers, leafed through it: fifty notes. Fifty notes per bundle, one hundred bundles; the bag contained a quarter of a million pounds.

Jack’s mobile rang. Unknown number. Jack slid onto the ground.

“You OK?” Angela Dunn sounded like she was right by his side. “He wasn’t meant to fight with you, just . . . I’m sorry. He’s called an ambulance, so they’ll be with you in a few minutes. He’s one of Julia’s misfits from years ago. He knows the darkness better than you, so you’ll not find him.”

Jack listened. He didn’t know what on earth to say.

“If I’ve learned anything at all over the past 24 years, Jack, it’s patience. Good things come to those who deserve it, and we deserve this.”

“I know where you are . . . Anita Davidson,” Jack managed.

Angela remained silent for what seemed like an age. When she spoke again, she wasn’t flustered, she was calm. Her words were exact, purposeful and brilliant.

“It sounds like you have the power to take away all of the good we’ve managed to scrape together. I honestly can’t tell you how it all started, and I definitely can’t tell you how it’ll end. That’s up to you, it seems . . . This money is not a bribe, Jack, it’s a thank you. Thank you for taking the time to know us better than anyone, because knowing us is the only way this will turn out the way we want it to. We’re not bad people and we had nothing to do with Mike’s death. We’re just trying to do the best we can for those we love. You know what that’s like.”

“Don’t talk about my family!” Jack snapped.

“I’m sorry,” said Angela. “Whatever you decide to do, the money is yours to keep. I want to start living, Jack,” she went on. She sounded so strong. “I’m sick of just getting by. I’m better than that. I’m more than that. We all are. I was born into a terrible life, but I’m damned if I’m going to die in it. I don’t know what else to say really, except . . . I hope you’re happy in the end. It gets easier once you’ve decided who you are . . . No, not who you are—who you need to be.”

In the distance, sirens began faintly and gradually grew louder.

“I can hear help arriving,” she said. “Take very good care, Jack, and if we ever do meet again, I hope it’s as friends.”