Kat walks up the stairs of Clapham South tube station and onto the busy Nightingale Lane, where the green expanse of Clapham Common stretches out on her right. Before the road peels off towards its smaller neighbour, Wandsworth Common, Kat drops down into a gridwork of residential streets. She could walk down any of them to get to the salon at the end of Brookhill Road, but she always chooses the first one, Wroughton Road. Kat prefers the safety of well-trodden paths nowadays.

But her familiar route is different today. Because the empty unit at the near end of their short parade of shops looks like a crime scene. Kat doesn’t slow down as she walks past the flimsy blue-and-white-striped tape encircling the building. She doesn’t try to catch the eyes of the two women dressed in white overalls either, or even allow herself more than a cursory glance in their direction. But her heart still thuds with apprehension, the irrational fear that rises up whenever she gets close to a police officer. The feeling started when she was 16 – when the fear wasn’t so irrational – but eighteen years on, she still can’t shake it.

She finally reaches Groom & Bloom and pushes on the Victorian-style front door. A bell chimes as she mumbles, ‘Morning,’ and Sally’s head appears from behind the counter.

‘Hey, Kat, you look blue; is it still freezing out there?’

Kat shrugs. Her parka might be a decade old, but it still works fine. ‘New contact lenses,’ she offers as an alternative. ‘Maybe that’s it?’

Sally squints and stares into Kat’s eyes. It makes her feel uncomfortable, but it’s over in a second and then Sally is pulling back and snapping her fingers with a smile. ‘Yes! Oh my God, you look so different. I loved the green, but you know, I think I might like the blue even more. One day you might show me your real eye colour; I bet that’s beautiful too.’

Kat feels embarrassed now. She’s not good with compliments either. ‘What’s with the police outside Delphine’s?’ she asks, changing the subject.

‘Ah yeah, that’s sad,’ Sally says, her voice dropping an octave.

‘Oh?’

‘You know there’ve been those squatters there?’

‘Yeah, what about them?’ she asks.

‘Well, one of them died last night. He was found outside the front with a needle in his arm.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘Loads of drugs inside the shop too, apparently. You don’t expect that sort of stuff to go on around here.’