Archer’s eyes snap open and she jumps out of bed, her heart pounding. She feels dizzy and steadies herself against the wall, taking three deep breaths. The digital clock on the bedside table says 4.13 a.m. Sitting back on the bed, she rubs her face. Her head is groggy with sleeping pills and she lies back down, knowing that she is fit for nothing right now. It was only a dream, a familiar nightmare, albeit with a new player. Archer turns on her side, pulls the duvet over her and prays for a restful sleep.

Chapter 54

54

ARCHER STIRS THE FOLLOWING MORNING to the sound of the front door closing shut. She blinks, rubs her eyes and stretches but a sharp pain in her wounded hand causes her to jolt. She relaxes her hand slowly in an effort to stop the sutures from opening. The bedside clock says 8.37 a.m. She has always been an early riser so this is a lie-in.

The events of yesterday tumble into her head, but she manages to hold them off as she slides from the bed. Her headache has gone, but her hand still aches and her lip is tender. Thankfully she’s managed to get a few hours’ restful sleep after waking from her nightmare, and is feeling better than she expected.

She steps from the bedroom and into the landing and calls down the stairs for Grandad.

There is no response and she feels a surge of anxiety that he has left the house and will meet someone who will ask him how his granddaughter is doing after her second great brush with death. She curses under her breath and wishes she set the clock to rise earlier.

Archer showers and then applies a generous layer of foundation to conceal the bruising on her face. She folds DCI Pierce’s clothes and puts them into a bag, ready for dry cleaning. She stops at the sound of the front door opening and is relieved to hear Grandad humming happily to himself as he enters.

‘Morning, Grandad,’ she calls.

‘Good morning, my dear,’ he replies. ‘I’ve just been to the shop. I’m going to make tea and toast, when you’re ready.’

‘Thank you! Grandad, listen . . . about last night?’

He doesn’t respond for a moment and then says, ‘What happened last night?’

‘Remember we spoke on the phone?’

‘Did we?’

Archer swallows. He doesn’t remember. ‘Could you please do me a favour?’ she asks.

‘Of course. Anything.’

‘Please don’t switch the radio or TV on this morning.’

‘OK, dear, if that’s what you would like.’

‘I’ll explain why when I come down.’

Archer pulls some clothes from her wardrobe: a dark red shirt, a navy knee-length skirt and black boots. As she dresses the she hears the front door opening and voices talking rapidly.

‘Shit!’

She recognises Cosmo’s soft West Indian lilt. Her muscles tense. The grapevine has come to their home.