‘Don’t be daft.’ Sam sat up in the bed. She must’ve had her hair done since lunchtime, because it was a shocking shade of bright scarlet. The tattoos on her arms poked out from the short sleeves of her Skeleton Bob T-shirt. She threw the covers back, exposing a pair of red shorts and thigh-high black-and-white stripy stockings. ‘You bring me a present? ’

He stuck a bottle of Lucozade on the bedside cabinet, then followed it up with a copy of Skin Deep – ‘CYANIDE GIRLS GONE WILD’ and a Now – ‘NICHOLE SPEAKS: ACTING SAVED ME FROM A LIFE OF CRIME’. Then collapsed into the visitor’s chair, arms and legs hanging loose. ‘God, what a day.’

‘Did you get milk and Marmite? ’

‘In the car.’ He slipped his shoes off and stuck his feet up on the bed. ‘Steel’s being an absolute . . . pain in the neck. You’d think I’d get some sympathy for getting punched in the nose, wouldn’t you? ’

Samantha poked his left foot. ‘You’ve got a hole in your sock.’

‘But no, all she does is moan and whinge.’

‘Honestly, it’s like going out with a hobo. Give it a decent burial and buy some new socks. Maybe even, shock horror, in a colour other than black? ’

He smiled at her. ‘Thought you goths loved black.’

‘Not when it comes to underwear.’ She bounced a couple of times. Then scooted forward, until she was kneeling on the edge of the bed, looming over him. ‘I want a new tattoo. Something spiky and swirly, with a cat.’

‘Of course, Steel’s only moaning because the ACC’s sandpapering her backside over this necklacing thing. Press are going mental after we caught the guy who killed him.’

‘Speaking of cats, I think we should get one. Well, a kitten.’

Logan groaned. ‘Can’t we just—’

‘A little fuzzy kitten. We’ll call it Cthulhu!’

‘Cthulhu? Isn’t that a bit—’

‘Shh!’ Samantha froze. ‘They’re coming.’ Then she jumped back into place and wriggled under the sheets. Winked at him. ‘Not a word!’

The door opened and Claire stuck her head in. ‘Fancy a cup of tea? ’ She wheeled the trolley in, stacks of cups clinking against each other. Then filled one from a metal teapot the size of her head. ‘How’s herself doing today then? ’

Logan helped himself to a slosh of milk and a Jammy Dodger. ‘Wants another tattoo. And apparently we need to get a cat.’

‘That’s a lovely idea. Be company for you while she’s in here. Don’t know about the tattoo though. . .’ She looked down at him, her eyes softening around the edges. ‘Go on, take another biscuit, I won’t tell anyone.’

He did – custard cream – dunking it in his tea as she lumbered the trolley out of the room. Then the door clunked shut behind her.

‘It’s OK, she’s gone.’