‘No.’ Abs bucked furiously in the chair, but in his weakened state it didn’t take much for Jez to pin him down. Panicking, he felt the bleach burn his bottom lip.

‘Down in one!’ hissed Rachel, pressing the glass to his lips.

But then the doorbell rang. Rachel froze and looked questioningly at her son. Jez shook his head – I don’t know. She placed the glass on the table. There was another insistent ring and she went to the counter. Abs heard her rake around in the cutlery drawer. She returned to Jez and handed him a thin skewer, made him press the pointed end to Abs’s throat.

‘If he screams or shouts or makes any sound at all, put this through his neck.’ She touched her fingers fondly to his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy.’

Jez nodded sadly. ‘Yes, Mummy.’

She left the room, closing the door behind her. Abs listened to Jez’s quick, desperate breaths. His former friend’s eyes were blurred with tears. He looked just like the frightened little kid Abs had met all those years ago. Careful not to move his head in case the point of the skewer pierced his neck, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘You’re a chip off the old block, aintcha?’

50

Sasha rang the bell and yawned, feeling tired and hungover. Her phone went off and she took it out, saw Ajay’s name on the screen.

‘Sasha—’ he said urgently.

But the door to Jeremy Weston’s house opened, and the housekeeper who stood there was instantly familiar to her.

‘I’ll call you back, Ajay.’ Dropping the phone back in her bag, she smiled at the woman. ‘Hello there, I’m Detective Inspector Sasha Dawson.’

Years of incarceration hadn’t been kind to Rachel Weston; her face was criss-crossed with deep lines and her greying hair was thin and straggly. There was a stoop in the way she held herself, a slight curvature of the spine. Her hangdog expression pulled down her jowls, but her eyes blazed with fiery impatience.

When she didn’t reply, Sasha said, ‘May I come in?’

‘I told you on the phone, neither sir nor madam are here.’

She tried to close the door, but Sasha held it open. ‘Actually, it’s you I’d like to talk to.’

The housekeeper looked flustered. ‘Me?’

‘It won’t take a moment.’ Sasha didn’t wait to be invited in; she walked into the hallway, forcing the housekeeper to step back. ‘I’d just like to ask you questions, Rachel.’

The woman scowled. ‘Who is Rachel?’

‘You are.’ Sasha smiled. ‘You’re Rachel Weston, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The housekeeper’s eyebrows leaped with indignation. ‘My name is Pauline Scott.’

‘I believe your real name is Rachel Weston.’