‘Of course I know,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve just come to pick something up.’

‘I see.’ Isabelle felt prickles of excitement at the back of her neck. ‘Well, be my guest.’ She stepped aside.

The woman fumbled with the lock, clearly upset, and said ‘I’m sorry, but you still haven’t told me who you are?’

Isabelle walked down the corridor, not looking back, trying to hold in her laughter until she was safely in the lift.

‘Oh, poor Mummy,’ she said, when she was finally alone. The lift was mirrored, reflecting the biggest smile she’d worn for ages.

‘About bloody time!’

The sharp-suited young redhead grabbed Will by the back of the neck, rubbed his skull with his knuckles and gave him an open-mouthed kiss.

‘Hi, Ricky. Sorry – I’ve been so busy . . .’

‘You can say that again. All I ever hear about is Cissé this, Cissé that. Well, what do you want? Apart from me, obviously, and you can have that later.’

‘Really? I didn’t realise I’d made such a good impression.’

‘A lasting impression,’ said Ricky, rubbing his bum. ‘Anyway, enough of this dirty talk. Cut to the chase. You haven’t called me after a year just to hear what a good shag you are.’

‘No. You’re right.’ Does this mean I’m going to be unfaithful to Joel?

‘Come on, then. Ask away. Chances are you’ll get what you want.’

‘You’re still in music, right?’

‘Yes. Oh God, tell me this isn’t just because you want tickets for Mercy Williams.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Okay. Two. That’s the best I can do.’

‘Thanks, Ricky. But that’s not really what I wanted to ask you. There’s something else . . .’

When the doctors thought she was ready, Victoria met the police. It was all very carefully handled; she was in a single ward, with an interpreter, and there were only two of them, a man and a woman. The woman did most of the talking, in good English. The interpreter only had to say ‘Are you sure you understand?’ from time to time.

It took them nearly five minutes to get round to telling her that Leanne Miller was dead. And then it took a further minute for the fact to find its way to Victoria’s consciousness.

‘Are you sure you understand?’ said the interpreter, as Victoria went as white as her bedsheets.

‘Leanne . . .’

‘I am so sorry,’ said the policewoman, in a tone she’d use for a bereaved spouse. ‘I realise this is a terrible shock.’

Victoria was shaking, but not because of grief.

‘What happened?’

They told her – the car parked by the side of the mountain road, the lorry, Leanne’s broken body, the rescue services’ heroic efforts to remove Victoria from the wreckage.

‘And have they . . . do you know who . . .’

‘We have launched the fullest possible investigation. We will find the person who did this.’

‘You will?’