‘Good afternoon, Billie In The Bowler Hat.’

Billie smiled and tipped her bowler politely.

‘Be careful how you go, ladies. They’re watching. They’re always watching.’

‘We will, Clive,’ replied Madame Burova. ‘Take care.’

He nodded seriously and then moved on to the next post.

Soon they were seated in the cosy bar of The Cricketers sipping glasses of red wine.

‘Who’s Clive? He seems quite a character.’

Madame Burova smiled. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Clive – or MI5 Clive as he’s generally known – is an extremely intelligent if somewhat unusual gentleman who claims to be working undercover for MI5.’

‘And is he?’

‘It seems unlikely, but then, who knows?’

‘What’s with the elastic bands?’

‘He’s leaving coded messages for his contacts. He says it’s safer than using more conventional methods of communication. Phones and computers can always be hacked but the language of elastic bands is virtually impenetrable.’

Billie retrieved from her bag the photograph that she had been given and laid it on the table. Madame Burova took a large swig of wine to steady herself for the questions that would now follow, but the first one was easy enough.

‘What should I call you? Is your name really Madame Burova?’

‘It’s my professional name. But you can call me Imelda.’

‘Imelda Burova?’

‘Yes. My darling Papa was Russian.’

‘And your mum?’

‘Headscarf and hoop earrings Romany,’ Imelda replied with a deadpan expression.

Billie smiled uncertainly, unable to tell whether Imelda was joking or not. She turned her attention to the photograph.

‘Can you tell me which one is my father?’

‘I can’t. But only because I genuinely don’t know.’

‘Do you know anyone in this photo?’

Imelda stared at the smiling faces captured in a single moment of the year that had changed her life forever. She had looked at the photograph many times since it had been in her possession, and her eyes were always, inevitably drawn to Cillian. But now she looked at the others. Friends, colleagues and some merely acquaintances. It had been a long time ago, but she could still put names to some of the faces.

‘I knew most of them back then. It was taken at Larkins Holiday Park, and I worked there for a while.’

Billie pointed to Cillian. ‘Who’s this? He looks like a matinee idol. I wouldn’t complain if he turned out to be my dad.’

Imelda was grateful for the wine and took another sip.

‘Cillian Byrne. He was a Wall of Death rider.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Handsome, charming, kind – and very popular. He drew people to him, like a log fire on a winter’s day. But he had a dark side too. Danger excited him.’ As she lifted her glass again, Imelda’s hand shook just a little. ‘He was a big hit with the ladies,’ she added.

‘I bet he was. What happened to him?’

‘He died.’

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Now