He was there, three days later, at the meeting of the Direct Action Committee in the Partisan. The vigil in Downing Street had garnered attention, along with the homeosaurus, and they were doing the final planning of the week-long campaign, and the march to Heathrow airport at the end of the month. John was there, taking notes. He sat a few rows in front of her, didn’t see her behind him. His shoulders shifted beneath his jumper as he wrote, his neck creasing when he looked up. He had looked hurt, bewildered when she’d told him about the abortion. Perhaps he did care about her, perhaps there was some truth in what he was trying to tell her, fantastical as it sounded.

She waited for him after the meeting.

‘John—’

He looked at his watch. ‘I can’t really stop now.’

‘I’ll walk with you,’ she said. ‘I rushed away too soon.’

‘I’m on my bike,’ he said, walking towards his cycle propped up against the kerb. She had to trot to keep up with him. ‘You need to know about Vasily.’ She reached out for his arm, tugged at his sleeve. ‘Please slow down.’

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Quickly.’ He had grabbed the handlebars, lifted the bike to free the pedal.

‘I knew him. His superior…’ She swallowed. ‘His superior, a man called Boris’ – she paused again, she’d never used the word before – ‘raped Lieselotte. Again and again. Vasily stood guard while he did it.’

John was studying her face. She had to speak fast, make sure she kept his attention.

‘He’d leer at Lieselotte,’ she went on. ‘He wanted a girl, he wanted her. We thought they’d left, been posted elsewhere, back to Russia. But now…’ She looked at John. He was frowning, as if he was layering this information onto what he knew. ‘Now I know he didn’t, because Lieselotte kept the key to the apartment on a chain round her neck and the morning after she went missing, Vasily used it to come into our flat.’ She stopped, catching her breath. ‘I shot him. That’s why he limps. It gave me time to run away. I haven’t seen him since. He’s not looking for my father, is he? That’s just nonsense. He’s looking for me. For revenge. Is that what he’s doing here?’

John carried on staring at her, his face blank, expressionless.

‘I think he may have murdered Lieselotte,’ she said. ‘How else would he have come by the key?’

‘I’m sorry, Betty,’ he said. ‘I can’t explain now. I have to go. I have an appointment.’

‘With Vasily?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

Anxiety washed over her, a sudden, unexpected surge of fear, and jealousy. He was meeting a woman.