His head swivels towards me, his eyes wide. ‘I’ve just called an ambulance. There’s a woman here, unconscious.’ He gets to his feet, and that’s when I see her. The woman. She’s sprawled on top of a dirty old sleeping-bag and there are used needles littering the concrete floor, as well as empty crisp packets and a cereal box. A drug addict.

Rory kneels beside her and takes her hand. He looks visibly upset and I’m suddenly struck by the horror of it. ‘She’s so thin,’ he says sadly. ‘What makes somebody end up like this?’

I go to him and put my hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him. I know this will affect Rory greatly. He’s the first person to put his hand into his pocket, or donate by mobile when an advert for Unicef or the RSPCC comes on the TV. He can’t walk past a homeless person without stopping to give money, or a Big Issue seller even if he already has that particular copy. I kneel down beside him. The woman looks older than me, her skin sallow and sunken, her long dark hair matted and greasy. She’s wearing a colourful maxi-dress and only a cardigan for warmth. Her fingernails are bitten down and dirty. But there’s something familiar about the shape of her face and the dimple next to her full, chapped lips.

Rory still has hold of her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he says to her, in a soothing voice. ‘The ambulance is on its way. We’ll stay with you. My name is Rory and this is my girlfriend, Jess.’

At the mention of my name her eyelids twitch and her mouth moves.

‘Rory,’ I whisper, ‘she’s not unconscious. She’s trying to say something.’

Her eyes open slowly. Cat’s eyes. For a second I stop breathing. ‘Jess …’ Her voice is raspy, as though she’s not used to speaking out loud.

Rory turns to me in shock. ‘Do you know this woman?’

Her eyes close again and her hand goes limp in Rory’s.

I sit back on my heels in horror, thinking I might be sick as the sirens sound in the distance. It can’t be. It can’t be her. But even in her current state the resemblance to Heather is striking. ‘I think … I think it’s Flora.’

Chapter 47

47

Margot

‘I need to tell you the truth,’ Heather says, staring at Margot intently. ‘Flora’s still alive.’

Margot stares at her daughter, speechless. The damage to her brain must have been greater than any of them had understood. She’s spouting rubbish. She’s confused, bless her.

She takes her hand. ‘Sweetheart, we have to accept that Flora is dead.’