It was so many years later that Chantelle finally found out for herself. She’d walked into her usual pub in Perivale one Friday night and Dorothy had just been sitting there at the bar, looking like she belonged there; like she had never left. There had been a teary, wine-fuelled reunion and the two of them had talked into the early hours of the morning, the conversation continuing at Chantelle’s flat long after the pub had thrown them out.

And so, Dorothy had re-entered her life, and had been a constant, if unpredictable presence ever since. This morning was typical – she’d turn up out of the blue, ask about something weird, then vanish again, with no explanation of what was going on. What was even more irritating was that she was right about there being something odd going on in the area. How did she know? Just for once Chantelle would like to find something going on that Dorothy McShane didn’t know about. Well perhaps she could surprise her. If there was something going on in Perivale then perhaps the girls would have some gossip that could give her a lead to something.

Feeling her gloom lifting, Chantelle finished doing her make-up, pulled on her huge, fleece-lined puffer jacket, snatched up her handbag and keys and made her way out of the front door. The grey clouds of the day had lifted, and the night sky was clear and full of stars. There would be ice on her car windscreen in the morning. Thank God it was the weekend and she didn’t have to be at the studio at 6am. She stood on the walkway outside her flat for a moment, letting the cold January air clear her head. She was about to make her way down the concrete stairs that led to street level when a noise made her start.

She peered into the darkness. Was that a figure moving in the alleyway that ran along the rear of the flats? A muffled curse and the flash of light from a torch confirmed it. There was someone there! It must be the creep that Gina and her boyfriend had disturbed the other night.

Determined to have some useful information of her own that she could impress Dorothy with Chantelle pulled her phone from her bag, turned on the camera and gingerly made her way down the steps. As she crept across the yard to the gate that led into the alleyway, wet newspaper and discarded sweet wrappers catching in her toes at every step, she immediately regretted her decision to wear shoes that favoured style over practicality.

Listening carefully for any sound of the intruder she eased open the gate and peered into the alleyway beyond. At the far end she could see the figure of a man rummaging around the bin bags and recycling bins. If she could just get close enough to get a clear photo of him …