He ignored her and got out, locking the car behind him as he followed her up the path. She’d gone about three steps when she was overtaken by a wave of nausea so intense she gagged. She managed not to throw up but Samir had heard; he took the keys from her hand and opened the front door. She ran up the stairs, catching a glimpse of Christine’s startled face in the archway before she reached the top and slammed the bathroom door shut. There was nothing much to come up but it didn’t stop her body trying. Between retches, she heard the low murmur of voices downstairs.

By the time she could safely move, the house was quiet. She opened the bathroom window to look for his car and saw it was gone. The chill was back in her bones, she was actually shivering. She crossed the landing and got into bed.

How could you?

I had to.

That’s bullshit!

Easy for you to say.

Really? Because I’ve got to tell you, Corinna, things aren’t that great here but I would never – ever – do that.

For Lennie, you would. Your child.

No. I wouldn’t. Because I could never look her in the eye again.

Living off immoral earnings. That was the criminal charge for selling women’s bodies, letting them be physically penetrated for money so you could take a cut of it. And it wasn’t just their bodies. Corinna must have known that. Robin thought of the girl at Grand Central, the vacancy in her eyes. You couldn’t do it, sell yourself, and walk away the same.

‘It could still be a mistake,’ Samir had said as they’d come up Stratford Road. ‘She could be lying about Corinna for some reason; she could have got it wrong.’

Robin had shaken her head. ‘I remembered something else.’

‘What?’

‘The black eye. Staverton did it when he forced his way in there. The girl said he hit her in the face. The woman who ran it.’

She sensed her mother before she saw her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head cocked bird-like under the edge of the upper bunk. Through the duvet, her hand felt heavy on Robin’s ribcage, steadying.

‘Samir told me, love,’ she said.

‘Is there any news? Have they arrested him?’

‘Not that I’ve heard. But no one’s called. How are you feeling?’

Literally and metaphorically empty. Like someone had scooped out her insides with a metal spoon. ‘How long was I asleep?’

‘About three hours. He said to remind you that you could still be wrong.’

‘There’s nothing I want more. But I’m not.’