‘If there’s any sign of anything dodgy, if you feel like she’s spotted you, or you feel nervous in any way, turn straight around and come home,’ said Mac.

‘Only follow her as far as you feel comfortable,’ Tom added. ‘If she leads you somewhere isolated, don’t go any further.’

Zoe looked from one to the other of their tense faces, then down at a fast-asleep Oscar. Finally she looked up and, meeting Clara’s gaze, said, ‘Of course I’ll do it.’

Clara closed her eyes. ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?’

Zoe gave a wry smile. ‘Are you kidding? A chance to leave Oscar with Adam and go and do something more exciting than puree carrots? Hell yeah.’

While Mac and Tom breathed a sigh of relief, Clara chewed her thumbnail unhappily. She felt a fresh surge of anger towards Rose and Oliver. This was their mess, their doing, yet they’d jumped at the chance to send a young woman they didn’t know, a young mother, into danger to help clear it up. ‘What if it goes wrong?’ she asked.

‘Like you said, Hannah doesn’t know me; she doesn’t know what I look like. I’ll keep way back. Listen, Clara, I’m going to do this, you’d do the same for me. I’m not stupid, if I start getting a bad vibe, I’ll back the fuck off. But let’s give it a try, yeah? Let me help you find Luke.’

‘And if she lives out of London? Miles away? What if it’s a wild goose chase?’ said Mac, worriedly.

‘As soon as it looks like she’s heading out of town, I’ll abort mission, OK?’ Zoe replied. ‘Seriously, guys, it’ll be fine.’

Later that day, as Clara sat with Tom and Mac, she sent the message to Hannah: Can we meet?

The reply came quickly: Of course. Do you have any news?

‘What shall I say?’ she asked the others.

Tom thought about it. ‘We need to give her a reason to meet us. We can’t afford for her to drop contact now.’

Clara gave it some thought, then typed, There’s been an interesting development that I want to talk over with you.’ And she pressed Send.

For the next hour or so they waited for a reply. ‘Maybe she’s on to us,’ Clara said nervously to Tom. ‘Your mum said that she somehow seems able to track their every move. What if she’s twigged that I know she’s not Emily?’ She sighed in frustration. ‘Where the fuck is she?’ she muttered.

Finally, another message came through: Tomorrow? Same bar as last time?

Sure, Clara wrote, feeling a rush of relief. I’ll see you there at six.

She put her phone down and looked at first Tom and then Mac. ‘Looks like we’re on.’

30

London, 2017