Again there was silence. Clara could feel the hard thump of her heart in her throat. And then Hannah spoke. ‘You’re lying,’ but there it was, Clara was sure: the faintest ghost of uncertainty.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’m not. Let me in. Let me in to see Luke and I’ll tell you what happened to Nadia. Rose told me the truth, Hannah. She told me how your mother really died that night.’ The only sound now was her own frightened, panting breath. ‘Hannah,’ she said again, ‘open the door.’

Nothing, only a thick, impossible silence. ‘Your mother talked about you, before she died,’ Clara told her. ‘She said something to Rose that I think you’ll want to hear. Let me in, Hannah. I’m here alone. I just want to see Luke.’ And then, suddenly, there it was: the sound of a lock being turned. Clara briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again there Hannah stood. They stared at each other for barely a moment before Tom pushed past Clara with such violence it sent her stumbling and he shoved Hannah hard back into the flat as she let out a cry of surprise and rage.

‘You fucking cunts,’ Hannah spat before Tom gripped her by the throat and slammed her head against the wall.

‘Where’s my brother?’ he shouted. ‘Where’s Luke?’ He propelled her now into the flat, the others on his heels. Clara felt around for a light switch, and the five of them flinched at the sudden harsh cold brightness, blinking dazedly as they looked around themselves. The flat was small and dismal, in a similar state to the entrance hall with an added stench of decades’ worth of stale cigarette smoke. Off the narrow hallway was a living room, a tiny kitchen and three more rooms, each with their doors closed. ‘Luke?’ Tom shouted. ‘Luke, are you here?’

A loud thump came from the furthest room and Clara darted towards it. ‘In here!’ she cried, but when she tried the handle she found that it was locked. The thumping continued. She turned to Hannah. ‘Open it! Where are the keys?’

When Hannah didn’t move, Oliver went to the door and tried the handle, putting his weight against it, but it wouldn’t budge. He turned back to Hannah. ‘Give us the key,’ he said.

Her face stretched into a sneer. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Enough, Hannah!’ Oliver shouted. ‘Enough! It’s over. Open the door.’

‘No, it’s not over,’ she said. ‘It will never be over.’