A group of young men surround around me and I’m buffeted into the café. Two of the men block my view of Kira but I still hear her reply. I hear every word.

Chapter 59

Where am I?

WHERE AM I?

Oh God, not again. Please God, not again.

My fingers graze something cold and rough. A tree root. I am outside, surrounded by bushes and trees. Beneath my feet is mud, carpeted with leaves. The sky is grey, striped with the orange glow of street lights and pollution.

The stomp-stomp-stomp of heavy footsteps on concrete startles me and I curl up, making myself as small as possible. The sound gets louder and then fades. When it is completely quiet again I uncurl, part the bushes to my right and ease myself onto my knees. A wide expanse of grass. Trees. Houses, loads of them, clustered together with rolling hills in the distance. The Downs. I’m in Bristol. I’m still in South Bristol. Oh, thank God. I part the bushes to my left. Railings. Beyond that pavement and a road and then … my heart double-beats in my chest as I look at the house opposite. My house. I’m in the park opposite my house. There’s Jake’s van parked outside. Mark’s Ford Focus, Liz’s Mini, Stephen’s Zafira, Caleb’s motorbike and Lloyd’s black Alfa Romeo.

I can see two figures in my kitchen, standing close together, both of them with their arms folded over their chests. It’s Mark and Stephen. Jake appears beside them. He raises his arms in the air as though remonstrating and Mark shakes his head. There is movement on the first floor as Kira passes the landing window. She must have heard the argument downstairs and come out of her room. Back in the kitchen Stephen has disappeared from view. Now Mark and Jake are talking. I wait for Kira to walk in but she doesn’t appear. She must be standing at the top of the stairs, listening.

I shift my weight from my knees onto the balls of my feet as I try to stand up but I’m so dizzy I lose my balance and tip backwards. I put out my hands to break my fall and my right hand knocks against something. My handbag is beside me but that isn’t what I touched. It’s something on top of the handbag. I reach under the bush and feel about. I find leaves, tree roots, an empty crisp packet and then, finally, something solid. I pull it out carefully. It’s an old-style phone, thick and chunky with sturdy buttons.

The screen glows blue as I press on the keypad. At the top of the screen is a mobile phone number. I have no idea whose it is – I don’t know anyone’s mobile number off by heart. Beneath it is a text message, unsent: