She’d thought that once she started work at the club, she’d be sure to see the owner. She was disappointed to find it was Donna who met her, showed her around, introduced her to the other girls and handed her the soft pink velvet costume she would be shoe-horned into every day. Donna taught her the moves the girls performed as they ferried drinks between the bar and the clients, helped her perfect the ‘dip’ until she had it just right. No mention was made of Claire Milo and Suki didn’t enquire; it would look too weird if she mentioned her again. But she did ask one of the other girls – Vicky, a chatty and glamorous brunette who always wore a scarlet costume – if Claire lived over the shop.

‘She does,’ said Vicky. ‘She’s got an apartment on the second floor.’

Then one evening Suki was crossing the club floor. It was a busy night, the place was heaving and there was a three-piece band playing bluesy numbers. A woman came in – middle-aged, blonde, and went over to the bar. Suki was there, giving the barman an order. Donna was standing talking to the barman, and when the woman tapped her on the shoulder she turned quickly, then gave a grin and hugged her.

‘Claire! You had a good trip?’

‘It was a nightmare! Too much traffic, and when I got there they started trying to up the price.’

‘You didn’t let them, though?’

‘Hey, do you know me? Have we been introduced?’ Claire laughed. Suki stood frozen, shocked. She was standing two feet away from her mother. And . . . the woman sounded English, not American. ‘Good to be back. See you in a bit,’ she said, and went off up the stairs.

Suki took the order from the barman and delivered it to the far table, chatting to the clients, smiling, doing her job, while all the time she was thinking, My God, my God! That was her.

She didn’t see Claire Milo again that night, or the next day. Suki felt like her whole being was electrified with awareness; Claire Milo was here, in this building. That bitch was here. She waited all day, and then the evening shift was due to start and she took her chance and crept up the stairs. Donna’s office door was ajar, and she could see Donna in there, her head bent over papers, making notes. She crept past. Then past another closed door. And on up the stairs. At the top of the flight was another door.

Christ, I can’t do this . . .

She steeled herself and knocked on the door. She gulped, nervous. Her palms were damp. Her heart was beating madly. No one answered, so she turned and started off down the stairs again. Then she heard the door open. Suki stopped, glanced back over her shoulder.

Oh shit!

‘Hello! Can I help you?’ asked Claire.