Heather turned back just once as she walked off down the road, before taking a left along the lane that led to the fields. Flora was kneeling on the ground and stuffing what remained of her Walkman into her rucksack, her hair obscuring her face. Heather wanted to rush back to her sister and throw her arms around her. But she knew it wouldn’t be welcome.

And then, her heart full of guilt and sorrow, Heather trudged down the lane that led towards home.

Chapter 46

46

Jess

Time seems to stand still as I watch from the window. I press my face to the glass, trying to spot Rory in the building opposite. I’ve got my boots and coat on in preparation, my phone in my hand, ready to call the police if he flashes his torch three times. Nothing. The silence seems worse somehow. I’m imagining all sorts: he’s been stabbed before he can alert me that he’s in danger; he’s been beaten up – murdered.

‘Come on, Rory,’ I mutter to myself, stamping my feet impatiently as though trying to dispel some of my nervous energy. ‘Give me some sign you’re okay.’

And then I see it, an arc of torchlight. Is it him? I don’t know what to do. I’m paralysed by indecision. Rory’s put himself in danger for me and now I’m letting him down by being a flake. Perhaps he’s just searching the area and has found nothing.

I can’t bear the not-knowing.

Before I change my mind I race out of the flat and down the stairs to the entrance. The street is empty, the door of the building opposite slightly ajar where Rory broke in. I falter. I don’t think of myself as brave. I’m not one of those journalists who constantly puts themselves in danger on the frontline, or who goes undercover to investigate some criminal gang. No. I might be headstrong, reckless at times. I make wrong decisions, like the part I played in the phone-hacking scandal. But I’m not brave. Yet, as I stand here dithering, I can’t stop thinking about Rory, playing the hero for me. Without allowing myself to think any more about it, I dart across the road, slam my shoulder against the heavy door and step inside the building.

It’s dark and dusty and I instantly sneeze. It was once a warehouse and it still has those large, square windows that are murky with dirt. I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. The room is immense: open plan with stairs in the far corner. A large dust sheet is draped over something near the stairs. I turn slowly. Where is Rory? And then I see him in the opposite corner, underneath the window, the moonlight bleaching his dark curls. He’s leaning over what looks like a body.

‘Rory?’ I hiss, stepping towards him.