It was quarter past midnight but as she’d hoped, the light in the front bedroom was still on, another sign that for now, the tide was at least standing rather than racing out, taking everything she had with it. She’d done it, she’d found Becca, and she had a way to make things up to Maggie, atone. And maybe, she’d thought, alone on the motorway, if she could speak to Tarryn’s other friend, get a lead on the Shannon Harris case, she might be able to pull something back with Samir, too. Some respect, she thought, grimly, if not leniency.

It had taken real self-discipline not to ring from Bath but she wanted to deliver the news in person, for maximum impact. With the hum of the motorway still in her ears, she pulled in, and picked her phone off the passenger seat.

Are you up?

Almost immediately, Why?

I’m outside. Can we talk?

Outside??

V quick one – good news.

A few seconds later, the landing light came on and then the one in the hall. ‘I’m four hundred and ninety-three years of age,’ said Maggie, opening the door. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

It had to be twenty years since Robin had seen her without make-up, and it was shocking, frankly. Scrubbed of the Jack Sparrow kohl and hidden behind glasses, her eyes looked very small. Her hair, that triumph of engineering, hadn’t moved since the office but without the rest of the look – the make-up and the silver, the black gear replaced by a tightly belted towelling bathrobe – it was more psychiatric ward than punk.

‘Nice slippers.’

Maggie looked at the pair of furry white rabbits, their three-inch ears lined with pink velvet. ‘Present from Alissa.’ Her sister’s daughter. ‘Don’t push it.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Briefly.’ She stood aside.

Robin managed to wait until she’d closed the door but only just. ‘I’ve found Becca.’

‘What?’ Maggie’s eyebrows drew together.

‘Yes. And she’s fine, absolutely fine. She’s left Birmingham and she’s working in a hotel. I’ve just been there, hence the time. I saw her – I’ve spoken to her.’

‘Where?’

Robin hesitated. ‘I promised her we wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘Where?’

She felt a strange resistance, as if it were her own secret. ‘Bath. It’s a great hotel – she’s got lucky. Or done well. She’s got a job as a sous chef. She’s always wanted to cook professionally, she’s going to start training.’

‘How did you discover all this?’

‘Tarryn.’

‘So she contacted you in the end?’