George’s car pulls onto the drive. I gather my bravado and my keys. I am out of the door before he is in it.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘Tash’s.’

Worry pinches the bridge of his nose into a crease.

‘Don’t go to Tash’s, Leah. Stay in and we’ll—’

‘I’ll be fine. I am fine.’ I zap my car open and climb inside. While the engine turns over I retune the radio, searching for a Nineties show but the songs are all unfamiliar to me. Too modern.

Instead I call up Spotify- and Bluetooth-courage into my car.

‘5, 6, 7, 8.’

Carly and Marie are with me. Together we will end this.

The Dog and Duck is on a main road and I have to park around the corner. I hurry to the entrance, my heart racing as I step across the alley next to the pub, remembering the arms that snatched me. My terror as I was dragged away from my twin. My helplessness as I watched Carly being roughly shoved in the back of the van. I am sinking once more. A figure moves in the shadows. I glance down the gloomy walkthrough. Graffitied on the fence is a clown. The clown. His shock of orange hair and menacing grin unsettling me they way it did in that room. I dash into the pub. Throwing open doors that clatter my arrival.

The barman glances at me before turning his attention back to the football on the widescreen TV. It’s gritty underfoot as I walk to the bar. The smell of chips lingers in the air. Now I’m here I don’t quite know what to do. My nerves scream for a vodka but I haven’t brought my own glass. Even if I had, I wouldn’t be able to drink anything here. Despite the overpowering stench of cheap toilet cleaner, the place looks as though it hasn’t been cleaned for years. Still, I can’t stay if I don’t spend some money so I approach the scratched bar, avoiding leaning my forearms against the surface.

‘Excuse me.’

The barman doesn’t acknowledge me.

‘Excuse me!’ My voice echoes around the empty room.

‘Whoever you’re looking for, I haven’t seen them. Don’t know them.’ He meets my eyes with a stare that chills me.

‘Sorry? I don’t know…’ This isn’t going as I planned. How does he know I’m looking for someone? Does he know who I’m looking for?

‘Copper, ain’t you?’

‘No.’

‘You look like one.’

I should have kept my jeans on.

‘I’m not. I’m…’ I think quickly. If I ask if he knows that man, Simon – for the first time in a long time I allow his name to pop into my mind, a testament to how strong I feel right now – then he might text him. Warn him I am here and there’s nothing like the element of surprise.

Let me go. Let Marie go.

There are a row of brass pumps tagged with beers named after wildlife. I order a pint of Badger’s Black Brew, registering the barman’s surprise. He raises his eyebrows again as I count out coins with gloved hands before I drop the money into his open palm, avoiding contact. I choose a rickety chair near the window so I can see anyone approaching. My knee jigs frantically up and down.