‘No,’ Jake’s voice rises, ‘meet me at the service station on junction six. You’re the one that needs to make the pick-up, remember? You can take my bike.’

He’s right.

It has to be me.

I check my watch. I have fifty-three minutes to get to the other side of London. The recriminations if I don’t are not worth thinking about. I pull into the service station and fling open the van door, getting out just as Jake screeches up alongside us. He takes off his helmet and hands it to me as he gets off the bike.

‘Go now.’

‘Roger that. Look after him.’ I nod over my shoulder to the still unconscious figure in the back of the van.

Speeding through the busy streets of London, weaving in and out of traffic, I grit my teeth. I have to make it. I just have to.

When I finally pull up outside the main gate, I jump off the bike and look around. The large green Portakabin is just up ahead. The whole area is deserted. Not a good sign. I check my watch. Fuck. Despite the full speed and the shortcut, I’m twelve minutes late. I pull off my helmet and tear up the metal steps, the rattling thuds announcing my presence to those inside.

The door opens and there is Yvonne. Ruler of this strange kingdom with the peeling walls and air with the faint smell of sewage. She’s wearing all black and her curly hair is tied back in a tight bun. Her mouth is set in a thin line.

‘Sorry I’m late – had a small setback. Hope everything is OK here.’

‘We’ve had our own problems today. Come through. I need to show you.’

I follow her into the small hallway. She reaches for the iPad on the table by the door and shows me the screen. On it is a photo of an arm with two distinctive red marks. You can just make out indentations.

‘Who is this?’ I ask.

‘You know I can’t tell you that.’ She folds her arms. ‘This is meant to be a safe haven, not a place of violence. We were given no warning this could happen.’

‘I understand completely. You must accept our apologies. I’ll sort this out.’

She nods curtly and motions towards the double doors behind her. I open them and there sits the perpetrator in a red plastic chair, fidgeting with an empty plastic cup.

With just one look at my face she comes running at me.

And into my arms.

‘Mama! Mama!’

I pick Gigi up and give her a kiss on the head.