She hadn’t told Martin. She didn’t want to worry him, in case it was nothing, which it almost certainly was. It had been quite difficult to keep it from him, though, given that she had been sent a set of detailed instructions on ‘prepping the colon’, which basically involved taking a powerful laxative two days before and then not eating anything.

The abandoned toast on his plate looked delicious.

Martin caught her staring at it. ‘You can have it,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry.’

She shook her head. ‘Me neither. I’ll eat after the gym.’ That was where she had told him she was going. ‘I need to leave. See you later.’

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll text you when James shows up.’

5

James opened his eyes. The room he was in was dark, but there was light coming from the edges of the curtains.

So it was daytime, then.

He lay still, listening to the throb in his head. He was on a mattress, on the floor. On the far side of the room was a bed. It was unoccupied, but the covers had been kicked off, so someone had slept in it.

Vicki.

They had sat by the canal drinking the vodka she had taken from her bag. He remembered telling her about Maggie, and about how he didn’t want ever to be vulnerable to losing someone again, which was why he’d said he had a girlfriend, but he didn’t, not really.

And she had said not to worry, she didn’t want a boyfriend. She had a story too. The story of why she had left Durham to come here.

Her mum had died, and her dad was useless without her. Kind, and loving, but useless, and he had a friend, an evil pig called Jerry, who was not so kind and loving, and who took an interest in his friend’s daughter, and told her he would kill her if she said anything.

And she believed him. If he could do what he did then why would he not be capable of murder?

So she fled, and made a life here. And she told him she could see he was hurt as badly as she was and that made them safe for each other.

Then they had come here, to her flat, and drunk the rest of the vodka and he had gone to sleep on the mattress, Vicki in the bed, both glad the other had no interest in anything other than that.

He stood up – he was still fully clothed – and swayed as his head swam. When he was no longer dizzy he left the room. There was a corridor leading to an open door. Through it he could see a fridge and sink.

Vicki was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking. She looked up at him and smiled.

‘Feel OK?’

‘A bit rough.’

‘Me too. Coffee?’