Robin had been in the Kensington Wing for three weeks before he was well enough to be discharged. He’d taken numerous hard beatings from the Ghosts and had nearly overdosed on the sedatives he’d been pumped full of to ensure he was in a comatose state for being unceremoniously dumped in a crate with a bomb strapped to his chest. As soon as he was well enough to come back in to the Platform, Jake and I had approved his transfer to Jagger, to take over from a retiring Rat. As Jake said, ‘If you can survive having the crap kicked out of you and becoming a human bomb, it probably is time you got to decide your own destiny.’

Will had only stayed with us in our beautiful Hebrides cottage for the first two weeks because of his work, but it had been pretty blissful. No arguments. No loaded comments about not really knowing me. We were back to being us. Able to finish conversations without one of us having to rush off or falling asleep as we were so exhausted.

But then it was a holiday. It wasn’t real life. There was no Platform Eight, no outside pressures, just our little family fishing for our dinner and early nights by a crackling fire.

And now we could go home.

Now it was safe.

It was going to be back to real life. The real test, when the demands of the Platform were back in my life.

‘We’re nearly home, Gigi. We just need to make one stop first.’

I pulled up outside the large house with the Savills ‘For Sale’ sign outside and parked the car.

I rang the bell.

Camilla opened the door. Arthur was in her arms in his pyjamas, holding a bottle of milk.

‘I’ve been expecting you,’ was all she said.

Camilla had been right. Frederick had never come after them. He had walked out of their house, leaving Florence alone, and never once tried to make contact.

‘Hello, Gigi. Florence will be so happy to see you. She’s through there, building a fort.’

Gigi ran ahead of us into the kitchen, where Florence was piling up empty cardboard boxes. Gigi joined in with a series of giggles and squeals from them both.

I sat down at the table with Camilla. Arthur was on her lap drinking his milk.

‘You don’t need to worry anymore. He will never bother you again. He will never bother anyone again.’

Camilla let out a long breath. ‘Are you sure?’

It’s done.

‘Positive.’

She stared down at the table. ‘They haven’t asked for him.’ She looked over at the girls playing. ‘Not once. We’re all getting on with life as before. Just . . . happier.’ She smiled.

‘Mama, mama, mamaaaaaa.’ The bottle was now empty and Arthur was wriggling. ‘I’d better take him up to bed.’