‘Inside here is what looks like an iPhone charger. You need to clip it to Ling Ling’s Dictaphone and it will download everything on it and install a bug that will link the Dictaphone back to G’s IP address.’

‘Meaning?’

‘That every time she presses record it will upload to his computer.’

She clipped the bumbag round my waist and took a step back.

‘Perfick,’ said Pixie, admiring her handiwork. ‘This is the perfect undercover look.’

‘It’s grossly attention-seeking and completely ridiculous.’

‘Exactly. You’re going to fit right in, darlin’. I’ve got you a pass as a fashion blogger.’

‘But what if anyone asks me about fashion? I don’t know anything.’

‘No one will ask you anything. Just keep taking selfies and pout a lot. Talk in hashtags. And don’t take your sunglasses off.’

I’d got halfway to the car park when I realised I’d left my mobile phone on my desk. I went back to get it and, passing the open meeting room door, spotted Geraint and Pixie holding hands. Seated in front of their laptops, headphones in, his right hand and her left clasped together on the dining-room table, their free hands scrolling through what they were reading on the screen. Pixie pointed at something on her screen and they both laughed.

I watched them for another second, out of sight from the side of the door. That new relationship bubble. I remembered what that was like. Where you made an effort with how you looked and what you said. And kissed a lot. Wasn’t there lots of kissing? I missed the days when kissing was more of a feature presentation. Not just the adverts you could fast forward.

I walked down the corridor towards the lift. I was happy for them. I wondered if they would last. It would help they had the same job, the same security clearance. I thought of Will’s face as I’d left this evening. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew I was hiding something from him, he just didn’t know how big it was. Everyone had parts of themselves they wanted to keep hidden – but they were usually more along the lines of unhealthy shopping addictions, webbed feet and lingering feelings for an ex. Not killing people.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

I ARRIVED AT THE FASHION SHOW unfashionably on time, 9 p.m. on the dot. A few people were already seated. The designer was an up-and-coming Eastern European with a name that consisted of so many consonants that it seemed wholly unpronounceable. The music was pounding. It was so loud I could barely think. How could anyone talk over this? Was it really necessary? God. That was it. I was officially old.

I scanned the front row until I spotted Ling Ling sitting with two friends. Pixie and Geraint may have got Cameron and me passes for entry but they had failed to secure us front row seats.