She decided to wait for Marina outside – what she had to say was better said without an audience, particularly those two.

Marina emerged several minutes later, red-cheeked from the dryers’ heat, the laundry basket wedged on her hip, but she didn’t approach Charlotte, instead walking in harried steps back down the street, her slippered feet slapping against the pavement.

‘Hey.’ Charlotte walked over and fell into step with her. She noticed the laundry in the basket was still wet. Couldn’t she afford the dryer?

‘What are you doing here?’ Marina asked sharply. ‘You said you would come to my apartment.’

‘And I was on my way there when I happened to see you in there. Why? Is there a problem?’ Was she embarrassed to have been caught doing her laundry?

‘This is harassment, you know that? A violation of my privacy. There are laws against this sort of thing, there must be. You can’t just keep turning up at my place of work, at my home, in my street.’

Oh dear. This wasn’t the start she’d been hoping for. ‘But, Marina, we agreed to meet here tonight, remember? I said I’d be coming over.’

‘You shouldn’t have my details in the first place! I’ve already told you – I’m not who you think I am.’

Charlotte was taken aback. What had happened to make Marina so defensive suddenly? Why was she so stressed? ‘Look, Marina, we’ve done this dance twice already. Don’t you think it’s time we cut to the chase? I’m here to help you, but we’re running out of time.’

‘But I don’t know what you want from me!’ Marina replied exasperatedly. She looked panic-stricken. Almost frightened.

‘Hey, I don’t want anything from you. I’ve got something for you . . .’

Marina abruptly stopped walking. ‘Why? Why me?’

‘Because there’s someone you matter to.’

‘No.’ Marina’s mouth curled in a sneer. ‘I don’t matter to anybody.’

Charlotte’s face fell at the bleakness of her words. ‘That’s not true. Please believe me – I am here because I’m trying to help you. Really, I am. Won’t you at least hear me out? I promise that what I have to say to you will be life-changing.’

Marina stared back at her: defensive, aggressive. But the curiosity was beginning to tighten its grip again; Charlotte could see it glimmering weakly in her eyes: Charlotte’s sheer persistence, her job title, now this promise of an offer . . . Marina didn’t say anything further but she didn’t protest further either as she began walking again and after a brief hesitation, Charlotte hurried along beside her.

They didn’t speak, lapsing into an accepted silence, Marina’s slippers slapping against the pavement as they walked. They went past a bar, the sound of shouts drifting out in punches as a football match blared inside; a ladies’ boutique with body-con dresses stretched over white plastic mannequins; a bakery with a beaded curtain at the door and a hole-in- the-wall pizzeria. A giant black and white mural of Cristiano Ronaldo had been spray-painted onto the corner building, the lower sections overlaid with the names of other players, Roberto Santos included in bright blue.