‘Well, wait up for me then later, OK?’ Rach elbows me as she stands, shattering my pile of clovers as she grinds out her tab. ‘And don’t even try giving me any of that crap about Kayleigh. She’ll be dead asleep, won’t she? She couldn’t climb out of her cot even if she wanted to, and it’s not like you’re going to be leaving her alone. Unless you’re about to tell me your drunk old lady’s got it together for once? They’ll be good as gold in the house on their own, and they better be, since I’ve finally found us something else to do in this shithole town.’

I wince as I get up to follow her out, legs numb from crouching, tar still thick in my throat. Best just to remember the colours bubbles turn in the sun, when the light catches them just right.

10

Marie ~ London ~ 2006

‘Slow it down,’ Dominic hisses into his cuff as we walk, scratching a non-existent itch on his cheek. The trees nod again, whispering as they lift and fall in the breeze. He’s right. They’re still watching. Only when we reach the gates does Dominic step in front of me, edging through the side access out on to the shallow pavement fringing the access road back up to the motorway roaring in the distance. Only now can we start to move at a clip, breathing in time with our march along the pavement, van purring up alongside us like a giant, sleek cat. Finally I allow myself a little mental jig, just for a second, just as I climb inside behind him. It’s not like anyone can see me, is it?

Dominic exhales, head hanging between his legs, hands strafing through his hair.

‘It’s over, sunshine. You made it. And you’re alright.’

Jemima murmurs as she rests a hand on his shoulder. If the van’s a cat then she’s its kitten, coiled watchful in the corner. I feel her eyes on the side of my face as her gaze flicks between us, adrenaline coursing through me like an electrical current. It should have been her, Jemima Jonas, the jewel in Nine News’s production crown, Crufts-level news pedigree, award-winning trophy cabinet. Except it was me. And she knows it.

‘Slow down a sec,’ Dominic says, leaning forward into the driver’s seat. ‘Bill!’

‘No way, Dom,’ Jemima says, pulling him back. ‘We’re not far enough…’

Dominic tangles with her, reaching over me to stick his head out of the window.11

‘No one can fucking see me, Jonas,’ he shouts into the wind, closing his eyes, gale thumping our faces as the van speeds on to the motorway.

‘Jesus wept,’ he yells, bouncing back down between us, all punk hair and manic eyes. ‘If all this TV shit doesn’t work out then at least I know I could be a pimp. Hah!’