‘To her flat, I think. At least I assume it’s where she lives. Acton, to be exact, north-west London. I followed her to Liverpool Street Tube, then got on the Central Line. I was about to give up, because by the time we got there the carriage was practically empty. But I don’t think she had a clue I was following her. She didn’t look at me once. She got off at Acton and the streets there were fairly busy. Luckily she lives not too far from the station and there was a noisy gang of drunk lads who walked between us almost the whole way, so I think I was safe.’

Tom cleared his throat and, raising his voice, asked, ‘What does her place look like?’

‘Total dump. Massive old Victorian building, about five floors, a flat on each one, I’d guess. She let herself in then a light went on in a ground-floor window, so I’m pretty sure that’s hers. I went around the back of the building and there’s this sort of parking area, and a back door, too, which again I think must be hers. I’ve got the address for you, I’ll text it.’

When Clara hung up they all stared at each other wide-eyed. ‘Fuck,’ said Tom.

‘So what do we do now?’ asked Mac, nervously.

‘We wait,’ said Oliver. ‘We wait until the middle of the night, when she’s least expecting us, and then we go round there.’

‘But then what?’ said Tom. ‘She’s not just going to answer the door and welcome us in, is she?’

‘No,’ said Clara quietly. ‘No, she’s not.’

31

London, 2017

It was 2 a.m. when they set off for Acton, the five of them in Tom’s car. Clara looked out at the dark, mostly empty suburban streets. She couldn’t seem to stop shivering, despite the fact that Tom had turned the heating up full. In the trapped tension of the car they listened to the satnav’s incongruously dulcet tones guiding them ever nearer to whatever it was that was waiting for them at their journey’s end.

She put her cold hands in her jacket pockets and, feeling something sharp, withdrew her fingers with a start. Before they left, Mac had pulled Tom and her aside. ‘I think you should take these,’ he’d said, and when she looked down she’d seen two small kitchen knives in his hand.

She’d backed away. ‘No! Are you crazy? I don’t—’

But Mac had pleaded with her. ‘We don’t know what she’s going to do when we get there. She’s crazy, dangerous. Hide it in your pocket. Please, Clara, just in case, OK?’

She’d glanced at Tom and when he’d shrugged and taken one, she’d reluctantly done the same.