Abney Park Cemetery was located in Stoke Newington in the London borough of Hackney. It hadn’t functioned as a working cemetery for well over a hundred years and was now largely overgrown. These days it was a heritage site and a nature reserve… and also, apparently, a popular gay cruising spot.

It didn’t open until eight in the morning, so Bailey knew she had to find her own way in. She looked up at the imposing gates, then glanced around to check that there was no one else in the vicinity. Grasping the iron railings, she hauled herself up, minding not to accidentally impale herself on the spikes at the top.

Dropping down on the other side, she straightened up and looked around. Paths stretched off into the tangled woods, disappearing into the vaporous murk. Without further ado, she set off at a quick pace, her heart thumping nervously in anticipation of the meeting which lay ahead of her.

All around stood gravestones from another era, receding into the tangled thickets, protruding from the ground at odd angles, skewed by decades of subsidence. From grand mausoleums to humble headstones, all were now left to the embrace of nature, the crumbling stone covered in moss, the carved cherubs and angels wreathed in ivy. Many of the names inscribed on the decaying masonry were no longer legible, having been slowly erased by the ravages of time.

The further she advanced into the sepulchral gloom, the more the noise of the traffic on Stamford Hill faded, until she was left walking alone in an eerie silence punctuated only by the sounds of her footsteps crunching on the gravelly dirt. She found herself shivering, distinctly aware that the chill she felt was due to more than just the cold air. This place was spooky to say the least.

She stopped for a moment, trying to gauge her whereabouts. She’d googled the rendezvous point beforehand and she was fairly sure she was heading the right way. Nelly Power, all but forgotten these days, had been a music hall performer back in the nineteenth century, and was one of the better-known occupants of this place. Her gravestone apparently lay somewhere along the trail that Bailey was walking along.

There was a sharp crackle in the undergrowth. Bailey spun around, dropping into the jiu-jitsu yoi stance, her legs apart, slightly bent at the knee, and her arms in front, fists clenched. She tensely scanned the bushes, bracing herself for a potential assault, acutely aware of just how vulnerable she was to some kind of ambush.

She held herself like that for perhaps ten seconds or so, her eyes flickering nervously from side to side, before slowly straightening up and relaxing a little. It had probably just been some animal scuttling through the shrubbery.

She continued on her way, paying close attention to the names on the wonky moss-covered stones. The sky was lighter now, the sun having risen fast behind the thick veil of fog, allowing her to read the faded writing more easily.