‘I’ll go,’ Tor says.

‘You’d do that?’

‘Sure. Leave it to me.’ She’s seen squalor. How bad can it really be? Besides, she might know half the people in it.

It takes a while for Jamie to agree to let Tor come with him. He refuses to let Maddy drop them in the car and Tor texts Claire, telling her she can’t meet for the swim, but hopefully she’ll get to go later.

On the way, Jamie asks Tor all about her charity and, as they chat, she realises that he was the young guy she’d seen on Christmas Day when she’d been giving out Christmas meals and Vic had been talking. He’d been so tantalisingly close all along.

Jamie stops her on a scrubby patch of London Road, outside a shop front. It used to be a betting shop from the signage, but there are graffiti-covered metal grills over the windows and doors. Jamie takes her down a narrow alleyway to the small service cul-de-sac behind. He shows her the way in through the hatch behind the industrial bins. Her skin prickles all over as they creep through the gap in the loosened grill.

Inside, torn posters are peeling off the walls. The ancient carpet is horribly stained and Tor pulls the cuff of her jacket over her nose to mask the stink of squalor. There’s a muffled beat of drum and bass and, as her eyes adjust to the gloom, she sees a pile of bare mattresses and filthy bedding along one wall. She has a horrible feeling that the lumps on them are sleeping people. In the other corner, she sees a man on his haunches, rocking. He’s emitting a low, guttural noise that signifies pain and her instinct is to check that he’s OK, but Jamie shakes his head and pulls her away.

He leads her downstairs past a kitchenette where there’s a weak flickering overhead light. A rat is on the counter and she yelps. Jamie walks further down a dark corridor and pushes back the door to a store cupboard. On the floor, there’s a rancid-looking sleeping bag on a stained mattress beneath some metal shelving. There’s a large ashtray, which is overflowing with roll-up stubs and several bottles covered in wax from burnt down candles. He crouches and reaches right in the corner, beneath the mattress and, with a sigh of relief, pulls out a flattened backpack.

‘You have to keep everything hidden. Everyone steals everything from each other. Just look at this,’ he explains.

She goes with him to a black recycling box in the corner on a metal shelf. It’s full of torn, emptied wallets and purses and discarded phone cases.

‘That’s all stolen?’

He nods.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘What is it?’ Jamie asks.

‘That,’ Tor says, pointing, and Jamie reaches in and pulls out a notebook. He flicks through the pages. ‘Actually, these drawings aren’t too bad. Lots of birds.’

‘Give me that.’

Tor snatches it, her heart leaping. Because it’s Helga’s precious book. ‘I know who that belongs to,’ she says. She thinks of Helga sketching on the beach. Is this the book with Linus’s number in it? Did Jamie have something to do with it being stolen?