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Chapters (53)
  1. The Source
  2. Dedication
  3. Contents
  4. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  5. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  6. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  7. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  8. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  9. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  10. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  11. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  12. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  13. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  14. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  15. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  16. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  17. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  18. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  19. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  20. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  21. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  22. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  23. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  24. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  25. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  26. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  27. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  28. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  29. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  30. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  31. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  32. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  33. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  34. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1998
  35. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  36. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  37. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  38. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  39. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  40. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  41. Marie ~ Just outside Warchester ~ 2006
  42. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  43. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  44. Carly ~ Deptford ~ 2002
  45. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  46. Marie ~ Deptford ~ 2004
  47. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  48. Marie ~ London ~ 2005
  49. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  50. Marie ~ London ~ Six months later
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  53. Copyright

I stand, gulping great drafts of misty, stifling air; air that cloaks my whole world, even in the winter. If I follow her out, will I get to evaporate too, like she just did? But as I shove my chair into the string-vest girls, I notice the gleaming counter, bursting with cakes and biscuits, plump with promise.

Two muffins should do it. Plenty to bring it all back out.

182

Marie ~ London ~ 2006

The Thames churns below Westminster Bridge, swollen with storm – laughter and catcalls drifting off the black water as a party boat cuts a drunken path below. Is it laughing at me? I strain towards an edge of tinny music as its fairy lights twinkle. The night is high in the sky now, after-the-rain fresh, the amber glow of Central London’s overworked electrics no match for the full moon, its luminous glow throwing ghost-shine over the peeling railings under my hands.

My head swivels at the crowds brushing past me, back and forth. Did I walk here? I must have … but how did I burrow out of the ministry? And how long was I inside? There was a guard, a lift, a side door, a shove … My fingers find the egg on the side of my head, ache pinching my elbow as I lift my arm. Now it’s Rach that’s laughing, clown paint striped around her eyes as I prod at my forehead. Worse still, it’s Kayleigh, motionless and limp in silver foil wrappings on her hospital bed, machines beeping and wailing with warning either side.

You deserve it, Rach sneers, pulling on the cigarette in her mouth. You screwed us worse than any of them ever did, and now you’re thinking about doing it all over again? I start to cough as her smoke rings pop, one-two-three, against the sides of my head. Petrol suddenly rotten in my nose; a horn, a squeal and a crunch, almost on top of me. A car, bonnet red and twisted, rammed up against the back of a taxi just ahead. More horns, more yells, more beeps and wails merging into a cloud of sound as anger and traffic pile up on the bridge in a matter of seconds. And still the water churns, bloated river whipping the banks holding it back. I turn 183away from the commotion and start to walk, Carly a ghost at my aching elbow, looking up for the moon as the shadow of Big Ben passes over us. But all I get is the London Eye, blind to all it should be able to see.