She laughed even as she remembered swallowing pills and waking up in an A & E ward. Before she could dwell on the memory any further, Tony cursed, looking at his wing mirror.

“What’s wrong?” Sara asked.

He didn’t reply as he turned onto the road that ran parallel to the fenced-off railway track, the cul-de-sac where he lived a hundred yards ahead. She asked again as his gaze shifted from the mirror to the road and back again. When he held his silence, she leaned across until she could see into the passenger wing mirror.

Francie Keane’s Range Rover, and behind it, Damien’s BMW.

Tony cursed again. “We can drive to the police station, see if they follow us there,” he said.

“No,” Sara said, feeling a weight drop low in her stomach. “They’ve seen us. There’s no point in running.”

As if in answer, Francie’s car accelerated, passed the driver’s side of the van, and pulled across the road, blocking it.

“Christ,” Tony said, braking hard enough to throw Sara forward, the seat belt gripping her chest.

She checked the mirror and saw that Damien’s car blocked the way behind.

“You wait here,” Tony said as he shut off the engine, unbuckled his seat belt, and opened the driver’s door.

“No,” Sara called after him, but it was too late.

Tony approached the Range Rover as Francie walked around from the driver’s side. He raised a finger to point at Tony before he could speak.

“You mind your own business, boy,” Francie said, his voice booming.

Sara looked around for witnesses, anyone, but the van had stopped at a high wall that bordered the backyards of the houses. She turned in her seat, searching for windows with a view. Those that she saw were empty, no one watching. She looked in one wing mirror, then leaned across to the other, and saw Damien exiting his car, leaving the driver’s door open.

“Can you not just let her alone for a few days?” Tony said, keeping a few feet between him and Francie, taking a step back when the other man got close. He kept his hands up, palms out, as if surrendering. “Let her get her head together, like. Then see how she feels.”

Damien came to the van’s passenger door, reached for the handle. Sara searched for a lock but couldn’t find it. Too late, she grabbed the inner handle, used all her weight to hold it closed.

Tony jogged over, took hold of Damien’s sleeve. Francie followed.

“Just a few days,” he said. “Come on, just leave her alone for a few—”

“Get your fucking hand off me,” Damien said, pulling his arm away.

Tony reached for him once more. “Come on, let her—”

Francie pushed Tony back and away, against the wall.

Tony kept his hands up. “Here, there’s no—”