If they got married, it would probably be best that they move abroad, to some massive estate on a cliff somewhere hot. Of course, Shawn would be away a lot, but that would be all right – OnT had so much security whenever they went anywhere, she and Shawn would be safe if they were together, and of course he’d want her to come on tour with them . . . And the money! She’d be so rich that she could buy her mum and dad a really nice house. Maybe even next to where she and Shawn were going to live. They always said they wanted to retire somewhere hot.

But, of course, the money was only an added bonus. She’d marry Shawn in a heartbeat even if he was penniless.

As she walked towards the main road, feeling as though her feet were floating above the pavement, she saw the car waiting for her. A black Audi A4 – she only recognised it because Shawn had told her this was what it would be, and she’d Google-imaged it. She wouldn’t have had a clue what they looked like otherwise.

Even though she already knew it wouldn’t be Shawn himself behind the wheel, her bowels clenched with nerves when she saw it. Any vestiges of fear that this was some sort of elaborate wind-up vanished, replaced instead with a different fear: that Shawn would be disappointed in her somehow; think her too young or too naïve.

She had to remind herself that this wasn’t a date. She was getting carried away with all the excitement. This was for charity.

It was still real, though. She was still going to meet Shawn Barrett, and then she’d be in the papers with him, maybe on TV. Who knew what might come of it?

The tinted passenger window slid down when she drew level with the car.

‘Hi, Chloe, jump in,’ said the driver, leaning across and smiling at her. He was clean-shaven with a nice smile, black shades, a dark suit and chauffeur’s hat. Chloe couldn’t help feeling very slightly put out, though, that he hadn’t leapt out to open the back door for her. Weren’t chauffeurs meant to do that? Maybe they only did that for VIPs.

She bent down and looked in. ‘Should I get in the front?’

‘You do that,’ said the driver, winking at her.

Chloe pulled open the heavy door and climbed in, grinning uncontrollably.

‘Hi. Oh my God, I’m so excited to see Shawn again.’

The driver checked his rearview mirror and pulled the car away from the kerb. ‘He’s excited to see you too. Great to meet you, Chloe. I’m Pete, Shawn’s driver.’

‘Hello, Pete,’ said Chloe solemnly. ‘Can I take a photo of you? I’m thinking I might write a blog about this after, you know, about the whole day.’ She pulled her phone out of her Paul’s Boutique handbag, but Pete put a hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture.

‘Whoah, hold on! Sorry, but I’m not allowed to have my photo taken. You know how it is – strict company policy. It’s to do with security for the boys – if people recognise me, then the boys might get hassled even more by the paparazzi and the fans, who’d realise that if they saw me, Shawn and the others would likely be nearby . . .’

‘Oh I see,’ said Chloe, feeling foolish. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’ Blushing, she put her phone back into her bag.

‘No problem at all,’ Pete said, slowing down at a zebra crossing as a small hunched lady tottered across.

‘Where am I meeting Shawn?’ she asked, trying not to sound too eager. ‘Is it far?’

He shook his head. ‘Not far at all – just down the road in fact. It’s a private venue near Sunbury. It’s tricky to find somewhere that Shawn won’t be mobbed, so his manager hired it out for you and him.’

‘Cool,’ Chloe said, although she felt slightly perplexed. It all sounded a bit vague.

Pete shrugged. ‘I know, strange, right? These pop stars have some funny ideas! Shawn’s really into symbolism. He thinks it would be memorable for you to meet him in the shell grotto of this place, because—’

‘Oh! I know!’ Chloe interrupted. ‘Because that’s where the picture on the cover of Twilight Kisses was taken!’

Pete laughed. ‘He knew you’d know.’

‘Wow,’ Chloe breathed. That’s so cool!’ Although she hoped that once they’d met, there’d be a chance of some hot chocolate somewhere. It was a cold February afternoon, on the way to getting dark already, and she was only wearing a thin denim jacket and black jeans; no gloves or coat because Shawn hadn’t mentioned they’d be outdoors. She’d assumed the meeting would take place in an office, or a private room of a pub perhaps; even – she’d hoped – at his apartment. That grotto looked pretty chilly, even from the photo on the album sleeve.

‘How will I find it?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Pete. ‘I’ll show you.’

Chapter 50

Day 14 – 4 p.m. – Patrick

When Patrick knocked at the door of Chloe Hedges’ bungalow, it was opened by a boy of about seven or eight, the age where new front teeth have just come through and still look disproportionately enormous to the rest of the child.

‘Are you a politician?’ the boy asked.

‘No. I’m a detective,’ Pat replied, and the boy gaped at him.

‘Mu-um!’ he yelled, without turning away. ‘There’s a policeman here!’

‘All right, Brandon, you don’t need to tell the whole street,’ came an answering voice.

Mrs Hedges came to the door. She was a tired-looking slim lady, probably in her forties but who looked a lot older, perhaps from exposure to the elements. Her skin was weather-beaten and wrinkled. But she had a lovely smile, which she hesitantly bestowed on Patrick as he introduced himself. They shook hands.

‘Hello. I’m Rebecca Hedges. Would you like a cup of tea? Brandon, go and make the detective a tea. Milk? Sugar? Is this about Jessica McMasters? My daughter’s already given a statement, as you probably know.’

She ushered him inside and looked pointedly at his feet as he confirmed that a tea with milk would be lovely. Patrick looked down at them too, momentarily puzzled. Then light dawned as he noticed that she wore slippers, and Brandon was in his socks. ‘Shall I take off my shoes?’

There was that smile again. ‘If you wouldn’t mind . . . we just had the carpets cleaned. Thanks. Come through.’

He slipped off his brogues and followed her into the front room. It felt oddly intimate, being in a stranger’s house in just his socks – which, he noticed, were odd ones. He sat down where she indicated, next to a big ginger cat on the sofa. ‘I’m just following up a new lead in Jessica’s murder investigation, Mrs Hedges, and I wanted a quick word with Chloe.’

Rebecca Hedges looked pained. ‘I’m ever so sorry, Detective Lennon, but she’s gone out shopping at the Bentall Centre in Kingston with a friend. You just missed her. I’ll give her a call and ask what time she’ll be back.’

‘Who has she gone with?’ Patrick looked at the photographs around the room, mostly school portraits of the two kids at different ages, in different coloured school jumpers; Brandon with baby teeth, then no front teeth, then the massive ones in the latest photo.

‘Someone called Pareesa. I don’t know her,’ Rebecca confessed, pulling a mobile out of her cardigan pocket and holding it to her ear. ‘She’s been hanging out with some new girls from school, since Jessica died. It had a big effect on her, as you can imagine . . . No answer. It’s gone straight to voicemail . . . Chloe, darling, it’s Mum – give me a call back as soon as you get this message, would you? See you soon, don’t be late. Love you . . .’

‘Must have been a hell of a shock for her, Jess’s death. Has she been struggling?’ Patrick asked sympathetically, and Rebecca looked almost sheepish as she put her phone away again.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘That’s the thing. I mean, yes, obviously she has in some ways. She gets a bit tearful at times. But I think in other ways it’s been a real wake-up call for her. She turned sixteen the other day and did a charity parachute jump! We’re so proud of her. It’s like she’s decided to embrace life, and just go for it. Today she was on a real high, just getting ready to go out shopping with her mates. She’s a great girl. And she deserves to look forward to life, after what she went through last year . . .’