I perch on the edge of my seat. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry, and I hate crying in public.

Daisy keeps hold of my hand. “I’m not being a bitch. I just want you to be happy, that’s all. You’ve already told me you’ve saved up enough money to stop work for three months.”

“That’s emergency money.”

“And this is an emergency. You’re miserable. Come and work with me in the pub until you get something else. Ian would take you on in a heartbeat; he loves redheads.”

“It’s dyed.”

“For God’s sake, Emma—”

Her phone vibrates on the table and the tinny sound of Rihanna and Eminem’s “Love the Way You Lie” cuts through the chatter and hum in the pub.

Daisy holds up a hand to me then snatches up her phone. “Leanne? You okay?” She puts a finger in one ear and frowns in concentration. “Okay. Yeah, we’ll be there. Give us fifteen minutes to grab a cab. All right? Okay. See you in a bit.”

She tucks her phone into the tiny clutch bag on the table then looks across at me. There’s concern in her blue eyes, but a sliver of excitement, too.

“That was Leanne. She’s in that new gay club, Malice, in Soho with Al. Al’s on the hunt for Simone and her new girlfriend.”

“Shit.” I clutch my bag and reach round for my coat on the back of my chair.

“You okay if we go? I know we were talking about your job but—”

“It’s fine.” I stand up. “Al needs us. Let’s grab a cab.”

We sit in silence as the taxi splashes through puddles and the bright lights of London’s West End speed past us. The streets are unusually empty, the heavy rain forcing locals and tourists into already packed pubs, their windows misty with condensation.

Daisy looks up from her phone. “You know it’s the anniversary of her brother’s death, don’t you?”

“Al’s brother?”

“Yeah. I rang her at lunchtime.”

“How was she?”

“Pissed.”

“Shit, at work?”

“No, skiving; she was in the pub.”

“She’s been doing that a lot recently.”

“Yeah, when she’s not stalking Simone,” Daisy says, and we share a look.