Tony laughs, hurr hurr hurr, and Ilias laughs, eventually. Even Lauren seems to think it’s pretty funny and I wish I was in the frame of mind to enjoy the moment a bit more. Or at all.

‘George says you were in some café.’ Lauren waits, stabbing at chips.

‘Is that right?’ I don’t much like the idea of George saying anything to anyone. ‘What else did he say?’

‘You were eating toast.’ She senses my unease and pounces on it. ‘That a big secret, is it? Another one?’

‘What other one?’ Lucy asks.

I pretend I didn’t hear Lauren’s last comment and that it’s all a bit of banter. ‘Did he tell you what I had on my toast?’

‘Like I give a toss.’ Lauren is furious, suddenly. ‘Dogshit?’

You ask me, there’s been a bit too much telling people things in this place and I should know, because back when I was still trying to solve the first murder, I was the one doing most of it. Now, though, every conversation makes me tense and jumpy. The ones I’m part of, or the ones I overhear, and most especially the ones I’m not around for but know damn well are happening. The whispers and the knowing remarks and the double meanings. Why did you run?, Marcus asked. Now I’m asking myself, why I didn’t keep running. If I had my way, everyone here would be made to shut up right now. Let them pop their pills and do their puzzles and scoff their burgers and chips with their traps firmly shut.

Same as Shaun.

Shaun. Even though he’s got more reasons than most to want Debbie dead, he’s actually the only one I really trust. Yeah, I considered him as a suspect, but only for like . . . five seconds. Shaun wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Lucy says something, but I don’t take it in. I’m watching Colin, the Informal, who’s sitting on an adjacent table with Clare. I’m wondering what the two of them have suddenly found to talk about.

‘Al?’

I’m just a link in the chain of it. This . . . watching. I’m watching them while Mia sits at a different table and watches me and we’re all being watched by the camera in the corner. Up to now it’s not something I’ve really thought about too much, but suddenly I understand what poor old Graham used to get so worked up about. Why he chucked mash at the cameras and banged his head against the wall.

I suppose there’s a difference because I’m only really worried about one person, while Graham didn’t like anyone watching. Trouble is, that one person could be anyone.

‘Alice . . . ?’

I look at Lucy, who stares at me and says, ‘You’re miles away, babe.’

‘She’s remembering the sweet taste of freedom,’ Tony says.