Bargain, she thought, and she took the book with her.

Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door, and she put down the book and crossed the small bedroom of the little flat she’d bought when she first moved to Stoke-on-Trent. It was on the sixth floor of a modern building on a quiet back street, not far from the old pot banks that stood to the south of Hanley. Harri’s one-bedroom home might have been small, but the big windows in the living room gave her a panoramic view of the city and the emerald countryside beyond. It used to inspire her, but she didn’t even glance at it now.

‘Who is it?’ she asked, pressing her eye to the spyhole.

‘Me,’ Sabih Khan said.

He was in a tailored suit which clung to his wiry frame, and his hair was as immaculately coiffed as ever, the black waves shining with product.

Harri opened the door for her old partner.

‘All right?’ he said, lingering on the threshold. ‘I thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.’

‘Did Powell send you?’ Harri asked, sensing Sabih’s reticence.

‘No,’ he replied indignantly. ‘I’m here because—’

She cut him off. ‘Because you care?’

‘You know, people ask if I miss you, but right now I can’t say that I do.’

‘Well, you know the way out.’

‘I will come in, thank you,’ he said, pushing his way past Harri.

She shut the door and followed him through the open-plan kitchen diner to the living room, and she flushed as she suddenly saw her home through a newcomer’s eyes. It was a battlefield of misery and the casualties of her war with depression were scattered everywhere: clothes, magazines, unopened post, half-consumed cups of coffee, crumb-covered plates – some relatively recent, others relics from weeks ago. She hadn’t felt this low since her relationship with Ben had ended. Harri registered the look on Sabih’s face.

‘I know what it looks like,’ she said. ‘But these aren’t telltale signs. I’ve just been busy.’

‘Empty bottles, discarded food, unkempt appearance,’ Sabih responded, and Harri’s hand rose instinctively to straighten her hair. ‘None of these are signs of depression. Is that what you’re telling me?’

He held her gaze, and they stood in silence as she eyed him defiantly.

‘I was just passing,’ he said at last. ‘I’m not here to intrude on your business. If you say you’re fine . . .’ he trailed off. ‘But if you need help—’

‘Listen,’ she interrupted. ‘You can tell Powell, or anyone else who wants to know, that I’m doing brilliantly and winning at life.’

‘I’m sorry, Harri,’ Sabih said. ‘I let you down. I never thought Powell would go for you like that. I don’t know what to say. I wish I could take it back. Do better. Be stronger.’

And just like that he took the angry wind of indignation out of her sails. Harri couldn’t cope with kindness. Not today. She nodded, not trusting herself to reply. She’d thought about that night so many times, and wondered what she could have done differently. Her partner, her friend, was being beaten to death. If she hadn’t stepped in to save him, well, he wouldn’t be here. In her self-righteous self-pity she’d forgotten his suffering.