Over the days that followed Honor back-pedalled and apologised and begged for forgiveness, but the knife she had thrown had stuck, and still awaited the arrival of some force strong enough to remove it. No such force appeared and the discovery of the letter in the book of Greek myths a few years later only dug the knife in deeper. Her heart still felt so heavy that she sometimes thought the only reason she was still alive was that the blade had staunched the bleeding.

Awake now and heart thumping from the memory, Nevis sits up and, groping for her phone on the bedside table, glances at the time. 2.40 a.m. Hears a doorbell ringing, realises that it’s hers. Who is at the door at this hour? Drunks? She takes a deep breath. Early morning jitters, her mind still part stuck. Ignore whoever it is and go back to sleep. A moment later the buzz comes again and this time, as she throws off the duvet, she sees her phone silently flashing a new call. She sits up and does her best to quell her pulse. It’s fine, just sit here a moment until you can think straight.

Another buzz. The phone lighting up with another call. You must go, she tells herself, because whatever it is, it is already happening, the equation has already been written, the parameters set. She gets up, unlocks her bedroom door and stands in the hallway adjusting to the dim light coming in from the window in the living room where she forgot to draw the curtains. Still half asleep she shuffles to the video entry and presses the link button. Nothing. Just the thin light in the entryway.

‘Hello?’

A face appears but so distorted she can hardly tell who or what it is. The voice is like a vixen wailing for a mate.

‘Let me in.’

Nevis presses the green entry button and moments later the door slams shut and there comes the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She goes to the door and opens it. A figure bolts into the hallway and bends over to catch her breath, resting her hands on her thighs, her chest heaving.

Tash.

Nevis slides the door chain into its keeper, acutely aware of the adrenaline prickling her skin. Tash is speaking but the words spew between great gulps of air and Nevis cannot understand what she is saying. She feels the cold shock of spit spray landing on her cheeks then hears another voice, her own this time, shouting, ‘Not Satnam, not Satnam!’ Her hands have come up over her ears, trying to block the sound. There is a death and she cannot bear it.

‘What are you talking about?’ Tash’s eyes as wide as saucers, not comprehending, her grip on Nevis’s arm so hard now that the pain has broken through the panic.

‘Satnam is gone!’