Again, another flicker of acknowledgement crossed Charlie’s face and again, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Then matching Alfie’s small, strained voice, Charlie mimicked, ‘No, Alf, I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if you want my advice, I’d lay off whatever it is you’re sticking up your nose. I’ll see you around … Oh, and make sure you come to that decision soon.’

As Charlie quickly turned around, feeling a stab of anxiety, he knew exactly what Alfie Jennings had been talking about.

At the same time as Alfie Jennings was heading back to his club, Franny was on the other side of town. Panicked, she hurried along the deserted street that ran parallel to King Henry’s Dock in Woolwich, checking behind her every few yards as she made a right turn into Ruston Road.

As she crossed a small bit of wasteland, a loud rustling noise coming from near the derelict warehouse startled her. Her chest went tight, and her breathing became shallow as she nervously took a step back, crouching down behind a large discarded oil drum and feeling the chill of the wind coming from off the river Thames.

Hearing the noise again, Franny tried to slow down her breathing, desperate to stop panic overwhelming her. She pushed herself further against the rusty oil drum, not moving for fear of being seen by whoever it was. She stayed crouching for a moment, listening carefully. There it was, and it seemed like it was getting nearer.

Trembling and bracing herself, she slowly peered around the drum, still trying to keep herself as far back as she could, but suddenly she let out a long sigh of relief as a brown, mangey cat rummaged in a pile of rubbish.

Standing up, relieved but annoyed with herself at how on edge she was, Franny felt her phone vibrate. Quickly pulling it out of the pocket of her beige suede jacket, she saw it was Alfie. She ignored it, but it rang again … And again. Deciding it was better to take the call, Franny took a deep breath, answering as casually as she could.

‘Hey, Alfie! You okay? How’s it going?’

‘How many frigging times does it take for you to answer?’

Sensing the irritation in his voice, Franny held her own temper and kept her tone as light as possible. She trilled at him. ‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t hear it. Anyway, what’s up?’

‘Where are you?’

Absentmindedly, Franny spun around, staring at the small new-build block of flats in front of her. She could hear the tension coming into her own voice. ‘Me? Where am I?’

‘Well who else do you thinking I’m talking to?’

‘I’m … I’m …’