Of course he knows Clapham Common is an option. He spent three weeks there before he found the squat, and it wasn’t as bad as people with four walls and a roof might think. But while he hates to admit it, he’s scared of sleeping there without Jon. The bloke was hardly bodyguard material, but he knew the streets. And he had a certain way about him; Mark felt safer when he was close by. But what other choice does he have? He feels the sting of tears burn his eyes again and he lifts them skywards to benefit from the breeze.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Saskia

Unbelievable, Saskia thinks as she drops her phone and keys on the (much smaller than Beth’s) island unit. It would have to be Beth, wouldn’t it, who finds herself in a situation that requires a hero. As if effortless beauty and infinite wealth aren’t enough for her. All she did was phone for an ambulance, for Christ’s sake. Three demure taps on her iPhone 12. And that didn’t even achieve anything – the guy died anyway. But she’ll still have all the mums fawning over her at school when they find out, even more than they do already (if that’s possible). Saskia volunteers for three charities, manages their websites and spends hours researching and writing blog posts, but however many times she drops her voluntary work into conversation, its value never seems to register with the other mums. Beth’s Florence Nightingale routine will be a different story; she’d lay money on it.

Saskia sighs as she rifles through her coffee basket and picks up a Kazaar pod. A blend of Sicilian, African and Arabian beans, it says on the packet, which sounds like the sort of thing she needs after the extra bottle of Chianti she decided they all deserved last night – and then proceeded to drink almost single-handedly. Not that her night rivalled Beth’s of course. Olivia’s class night out was at a local pizza place, not Barrafina in Soho. Beth could have chosen to go to either – Martha is in Olivia’s class – but she went for glamour over convenience, and Saskia supposes she can’t blame her for that.

She drops the pod into the machine and slips a small cup into position. Saskia prefers the smell of coffee to the taste, and she breathes it in as a pencil line of brown liquid hits off-white china. She drinks her coffee black – quicker (she’s impatient), easier (she hates mundane chores) and more efficient (she requires caffeine to function) – and as soon as the cup is full, she takes as big a mouthful as the burning temperature allows. Then she sinks down onto one of the two stools and stares out of the window.