‘It can’t be…’ Dominic mutters as he stabs at the keyboard, pulling out the camera cable and reattaching it. ‘Hang on…’

Jemima slumps, pulling headphones out of her ears.

‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ I say, hopping from foot to foot as I peer down at the laptop. ‘We’re golden, aren’t we? What’s wrong?’

I jump as Dominic flings the camera on to the bed, trailing wires flicking up into our faces.

‘There’s no audio,’ Jemima says, through her teeth. ‘Here…’ I stare at the earbud she passes up to me. ‘And without audio, that’s just some fat guy in a suit he thinks still fits him.’

I gaze at the midriff wobbling on the screen. I can tell you every last letter of what he’s saying, but no one else, not even Dominic, 27would have a clue. And he was there. The shot goes dark again as Jemima switches his camera for mine.

‘Ssshhh, would you?’ She swats at Dominic pacing behind her.

‘This has literally never happened to me before. Literally. Never.’ We all jump as the floorboards creak under his feet. ‘Was all of it brand-new? You said it was…’

‘Really? A microphone has never failed before? Especially on a hidden camera? Particularly one stashed between a cock and balls?’

I hold my breath as a shot flashes up on screen again. This time it’s my shot. And this time, you can actually see his face. I have to look away, the sky, white beyond the window, inviting as virgin snow. And then I am lost somewhere between a cascade of relief and a flood of disgust, batting away clumsy hugs and shushing yelps of victory, all the while with a voice in my ear promising a virgin ride, production-line new, the absolute best on the market. Yanking out my earbud, I listen transfixed as Jemima mutters rapid-fire instructions into her phone, mesmerised by the blue line on the computer screen confirming the successful transfer of our precious video file. Yes, they’ve got it, yes, they’ve checked it, yes, they’ll download it immediately and save it in multiple places, yes, of course no one will accidentally use it and no, don’t be absurd, we’re not staying on the line for anything other than word that the network’s security vans are ready and waiting for us outside.

I smile back as Jemima beams up at me.

‘What now?’ I push my cheeks higher, make my temples sting. Make it real. It almost is, if not for the shadow trembling behind the fat guy in a suit he thinks still fits.

‘We go home,’ she says, stuffing cables into her bag as she snaps the laptop shut.

I sway on my feet, face slumping like melting ice. Home. Whatever that means. The absolute last place that I want to go.

28

Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996