‘There are sounds – a tapping, a whispering, rising angry voices. A flash of light, a sudden noise like a door slamming and then crying. It’s a deep memory. I want to reach inside my mind and claw it out, but each time I take hold, it slips away.’ Eva takes a breath.

‘Does this happen all the time?’

‘It comes in phases.’

‘Do you know what triggers these episodes?’

Eva shrugs. ‘A scent, a sound, a person.’ She frowns. ‘You.’

‘Me? How?’

‘I saw you. That night when you came to the house. I watched you from my window. I thought I was looking at a ghost. I couldn’t believe it when you moved in.’

‘So, what is it about me?’

Eva pauses. ‘Your hair.’

Zoe touches it. ‘What about it?’

‘The colour. The thickness. I’m not sure. I only know that from the moment you walked in that door, I didn’t want to walk out.’

Zoe stares at her. ‘Do I remind you of someone?’

Eva shakes her head in frustration. ‘There’s somebody that I see in my memories. She’s pretty and kind and . . .’ She stops.

‘Yes?’

‘She’s in trouble. I’m frightened for her.’

Zoe reaches out her hand and takes Eva’s. Her face is drained of colour, her eyes huge and dark. She looks frightened and yet her gaze is warm and her expression is kind.

There is a name inside Eva’s head that she just can’t reach.

She makes herself a promise. She will work out what that name is. She will force herself to remember. She will find out what it is exactly that unnerves her about this woman who is kneeling before her now.

28

Connie

3–4 August 1964

When Connie opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed in a darkened room. For one moment, she thought she had died. But then the pain came. A wild animal seizing and ravaging her, tearing her apart. She arched her body, waiting for the cramp to build and swell and climax and then leave.

She relaxed, breathing heavily. How had she got here? Her mind trailed backwards. The arrival of Dorothy. Her grip on Connie’s arm. The laborious climb up the stairs. She had made it into Dorothy’s flat before the liquid flooded from between her legs. Stumbling into this room, she must have fainted.

It smelled sour, of sweat and bile. The curtains were drawn. Connie felt panic rising from the pit of her stomach and spreading through her chest. There was a noise, a whimper, and Connie realised the sound came from her. In the dim light of a bedside lamp she could see flowered wallpaper, a heavy wardrobe, a chest of drawers.