She goes down the little hallway as the stairwell door to her landing creaks open. The steps toward her door are precise and determined. There are sometimes smaller ones behind them, but not tonight. Dot prays that she will finally be able to see who it is. They have done this every night for a month. Dot waits. The footsteps halt just on the other side of her front door. She puts her eye up to the peephole. The lights flicker off. All she can see is black. On the other side of the door she feels a hand up at chest height – where her heart is. Dot breathes slowly. Enough to steady her heartbeat. The lights flicker on. On the other side of the door, there is a young woman with red lips and dark hair, two huge, ornate, curved horns on top of her head. As striking as anyone Dot has ever seen. The woman looks directly at her – as the lights go out again.

1977

Flat 7F7

Queen Bee (21) triads vs rebels

THE HALLWAY is black. There are little gold-fringed lights on the wall. The living room has an emerald velvet corner sofa. There is a Formica kitchen with a coffee machine still gurgling. Across one wall, a large tropical fish tank lights the room. Ali peers in. A swarm of thin neon tetra with red bellies and bright blue backs flash by. A large catfish emerges. Long whiskers unfurl on glass like strands of black spaghetti. Two women are standing completely still at either side of the window. They both have long shiny black hair and are wearing bell-bottom jeans, black polo necks, rings and sneakers. One of the women has a tiny monkey on her shoulder. The Triads clear their throats. Stand with legs wide. Looking relaxed, they face the Original Founders. A giant ceiling mirror reflects the two groups surveying each other – over a shaggy purple rug. Davey picks up a copy of The Joy of Sex from a sideboard, turns it over, puts it back down.

– Could I possibly use your bathroom?

One of the women nods affirmatively to Bee, who then lights a cigarette and strolls down the hall. They all listen in respectful silence as she begins to sing ‘Rip Her to Shreds’; it is her favourite tune lately and one she often sings just before people die. Ali and Davey glance at Rab. There is the sound of a loo being flushed. Taps turned on. Bee noisily hauls a towel down to dry her hands. Then silence. Still no sight of her. She is reapplying lipstick, touching up mascara, putting her fox mask back on. Once back in the living room, Bee stops – feigning surprise to see them all waiting so nicely for her. Rab can tell she is hiding yet another headache but nobody else can.

She grinds out her cigarette on a tall ashtray.

– Nice spa bath – whirlpool?

– Yes.

– The pump is prone to problems, the older Triad adds.