A light sweat stipples my forehead. I hold myself still and listen. My father is still talking, and without thinking, I cross the room in three strides. I remember how the door sticks, and the need to brace one hand against the wall while tugging gently to soften its opening grunt.

I step inside.

I’m back to being twelve. The smell of moth balls and hand-stitched lavender bags. Unpainted walls. Off-cuts of old carpet on the floor. Unlit and musty, it hasn’t changed at all. Except now I have to stoop and the room feels much smaller.

The ghosts of the past come out to say hello. Three little girls, playing Murder in the Dark.

Barely aware of what I’m doing, I feel my way along the plaster to an alcove with its dusty shelves, tucked behind a half-partition wall. I run my hand along the top shelf. In my damaged skin, I can feel it, that itch of memory. My fingers close around a slim notebook that has been lying undisturbed for twenty-one years. I put it in my pocket.

My father is still on the telephone when I make my way downstairs.

The street is frozen into stillness. No dog walkers or children or cats on the prowl. It’s too cold even for that. A brief goodbye to my father and I doubt I’ll ever see him again. I hesitate, unsure where to try next. But then I see Lawrie barrelling down the road towards me. His cheeks are pink and he’s talking to someone on the phone.

‘Come on, mate. You owe me.’

A pause.

‘A name. Just a name. I’ll do the rest.’ Silence. ‘No one will know it’s come from you.’

Another pause.

‘A grand. Can’t go any higher than that.’ He nods. ‘Cash. I’ll keep it off the system. Don’t want to find ourselves in court.’ He laughs and winks at me, then puts his finger to his lips. His contact is talking, and Lawrie’s gone quiet, chewing his thumbnail. Then he’s nodding again. ‘As quick as you can, mate. It’s urgent.’

He hangs up, grinning at me. ‘The shit’s hit the fan. Geoffrey Heathcote dropped a bollock on Radio 2. The editor hates Heathcote’s guts so tomorrow’s splash is sorted. But he wants us to stay here tonight, see what else we can turn up on the Carter sisters.’

I take a deep breath. It’s time.

‘I might be able to help you with that.’

14

Edward was ignoring her.

At first, she thought she was imagining it. But when she knocked on the study door and carried through his coffee and one of Honor’s biscuits, she caught him shutting down the news website he’d been reading on his computer and pretending to be on the telephone. He would not meet her eyes.