As she drove home, Jane felt more and more annoyed with herself, knowing the fiasco at the Joneses’ house had damaged all her good work over the last three days and dented the respect Teflon had for her. She parked her car in a back street and trudged up the stairs to her flat. She’d never felt so tired and looked forward to a hot bath and going straight to bed. She managed to open the door a few inches before it got stuck and, after pushing harder, she opened it enough to squeeze around the door into her flat. She saw a plastic House of Fraser bag wedged between the door and carpet, and realised it must have been pushed through the letterbox. After closing the door, she picked the bag up and saw a bit of paper with Pam’s handwriting on it.

Bought this for you earlier and thought I’d drop it off before going to Mum and Dad’s for supper as I wasn’t sure if I’d see you later. If you’ve seen this before I’ve told you about it then you probably got stuck at work . . . or forgot about supper . . . AGAIN! See you when I see you . . . Your long-lost sister Pam. PS You owe me £3 and the receipt’s in the bag.

Jane opened the carrier bag and took out the grey newsboy cap.

‘Bollocks,’ she said to herself, annoyed she’d forgotten about going to her parents’ for supper. She picked the phone up and started to dial their number, but put the receiver down and banged her hand against the wall in frustration. She knew her mother and Pam would accuse her of putting her job before the family, which would be somewhat ironic after what she’d done for Tony. She couldn’t face any of her family after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours and just wanted to be alone.

She went into the kitchen, poured a large glass of wine and drank half of it down in one. As she topped up the glass, she thought of Emma and Rachel cowering in a corner, watching their mother being beaten to death. Alone in the silence of her flat it was as if she was there herself, unable, like them, to do anything to stop it. She remembered Emma saying how her mother had tried to reach out to them as she lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Jane felt herself welling up with guilt. She snatched a tissue from a box in the kitchen and hurried to the phone. She dialled her parents’ number and her mother answered.

‘I’m so sorry, I let you all down tonight, I should have been there . . .’

‘That’s all right, dear. I didn’t make anything special, it was only roast chicken with mushroom sauce.’