Ilias nodded, peering anxiously towards the examination room. Same as the rest of us, he knew how long the induction process usually took and that, any time now, the latest admission would emerge and be escorted to her bedroom. ‘You want to play chess after?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sounds good.’

I was excited to meet my new wardmate, but the real reason for my good mood was the phone conversation I’d just had with the man from Pindown Investigations, which could not have gone better.

‘Howard’ was extremely friendly and didn’t ask too many questions. He told me how much his ‘investigation’ would cost and asked if I could transfer half the money straight away. I told him that wasn’t a problem (three cheers for that police pension) and asked how long he thought it might take.

‘It’s all pretty standard stuff,’ he said. ‘Should have everything you need sometime tomorrow.’

Some deep-seated, law-abiding part of me was gagging to ask how he was going to get hold of all this ‘pretty standard stuff’ but it was just a low, muffled voice, you know? There was something far stronger screaming inside me, desperate to get this information and to use it. I didn’t want him to know that though. I didn’t want anyone to know just yet.

I said, ‘Hopefully talk to you tomorrow then.’

When the woman came out of the examination room, me and Lauren and the rest of them surged forward, like groupies outside a stage door. Marcus and George stepped out from the nurses’ station to make sure we didn’t go any closer and George shook his head, like we were all being a bit sad.

‘Come on, give her some room.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Remember how it was for you.’

I’m damn sure the woman wasn’t fifty . . . closer to forty if anything . . . but I could see why Ilias had told Lauren she was older. I don’t think he’d had a proper look. You know how they reckon TV cameras make people look fatter? Well this place can put ten years on you, easy. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see my mum staring back at me.

My mum, if she wasn’t well.

The new girl was white and tall and skinny – not Donna skinny, but a bit on the scrawny side – with dark hair tied up in a scrunchy. Her head was down, but I saw her glance up at us all, just for a second, and I could see the bruising under one of her eyes. She was moving well enough though, certainly not the usual Fleet Ward shuffle, and I remember thinking that, in spite of everything, she looked . . . determined.

‘Just make some space and let Clare come through,’ Marcus said.

So now we had a name. I nodded at Lucy and Lucy nodded back.