I wait for a few minutes, my eyes on my mobile. Will coincidence strike again, and will he call me back like last time? But the phone remains stubbornly silent. I don’t want to risk leaving it, so I ring again, this time leaving a message. I try to be vague – not giving too much away, eluding to our conversation at his flat so he knows who I’m referring to when I tell him about the old man and the fact he wants to meet him – that he must go alone.

Surely, he won’t actually risk going on his own though. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, so I’d hope his police training would ensure he goes prepared, with back-up close by. I’ll call again in an hour in the hope of being able to speak with him. In the meantime, I’ve my own mission to conduct. I walk into the lounge, flicking on the light, and stand by the window. It’s getting dark, the streetlights are on; their soft orange glow casting shadows on the pavements. Barb might’ve already left during the time I’ve taken speaking with the man, then leaving the message for Nick. I peer up and down the road anyway. It’s been at least fifteen minutes now since I was at Davina’s.

Why hasn’t she called me?

I catch movement up on the left. Someone is walking this way from Davina’s direction. Please be her. I rush to the front door – if it is Davina, I want to catch her before I let her in the house.

‘Thank God!’ I whisper as Davina turns up the path. I walk to meet her halfway. ‘What the hell is going on with Barb? Why was she at yours?’ I want to continue firing questions – I have so many – but her face makes me stop. She’s pale, all bar a blue-black mark the size of a fist on her right cheek. ‘Shit. Who did that?’ I gasp.

‘Let’s not focus on me right now, Amber.’ Davina lowers her head, but at the same time grasps my arm and squeezes it. ‘I shouldn’t be here, really …’

‘Why not? Is it Wayne? Did he do that to you? Or is this to do with Barb?’

Davina looks cautiously around her. ‘Can I come in for a bit? I don’t want to talk out here.’

‘It’s not a good idea to talk in there, either,’ I say. ‘We don’t know who’s listening.’

For a moment Davina looks confused. Has she forgotten our suspicions about Carl already? Is she concussed? But then she comes out with it.

‘Actually, I think I know exactly who’s listening.’

Before I can put up any further argument, Davina pushes past me and walks inside.

Chapter Eighty