‘Not working tonight, then?’

Sharon gave her a disdainful look. ‘What do you think?’

Petra scowled back at her. ‘You always work on Wednesdays.’

‘So this Wednesday I’m not. Got a problem with that?’

Petra did have a problem, a big one, but she bit her tongue. She knew the best occasions to pick a fight and this wasn’t one of them. No, there was no point wasting her energy on idle bickering. If she was going to get shut of Sharon, she would need to use her nous, play it cool and outwit the evil cow. She wasn’t, however, prepared to spend any more time in her company than she had to and so she grabbed her coat and headed down the road to Colleen’s.

Inevitably the two of them ended up at the Bell. Petra had only meant to stay for a couple, but by half eleven she was still there drinking her seventh gin and tonic behind closed doors. It was a long time since she’d been at a lock-in and she wasn’t complaining. Well, not about the extra drinking time, but she had plenty of other things to get off her chest.

‘There’s something going on, Colleen. I’d bet my bleedin’ life on it. All three of them whispering together in corners or shutting up the minute I walk into a room. There’s something brewing, mark my words.’

‘What about Kelly? Won’t she tell you nothin’?’

‘No,’ Petra said resentfully. ‘She’s as bad as the other two. And Wayne’s being as shifty as they come. Not that he isn’t always – that boy’s got sly bones, just like his dad – but he’s ten times worse right now. He’s got that look in his eye, you know what I mean? I don’t like it, Col, stuff going on behind my back like this.’

‘Can’t say I blame you. I’d be the same myself.’

What really irked Petra was that Sharon was also in on the secret, that the three of them had formed a tight little unit from which she was excluded. It made her feel pushed out, ostracised, as if she wasn’t really part of the family. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this. ‘And do you know what that evil slut Sharon said to me this morning?’

‘What did she say, love?’

Petra put on a high-pitched voice, mimicking the younger woman. ‘Oh, I suppose you’ll be wanting to get home for Christmas. Don’t worry about your Kelly, she’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her.’ Her eyes narrowed with anger. ‘She’ll take good care of her, as if she’s her bloody mother. It ain’t right, it ain’t right at all.’

‘It’s downright criminal,’ Colleen said, backing up her friend. ‘You’ve got no idea what they’re up to then?’

‘It’ll be something to do with this Eddie business, bound to be. Kelly doesn’t talk about nothin’ else. The poor guy’s six foot under and the filth still ain’t made an arrest. It’s been weeks, Col. At this rate they’ll never find out who done it.’

Colleen swigged on her gin and gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘It ain’t proper, not your own flesh and blood hiding stuff from you. You need to have a word, get it all out in the open.’

‘And I’ll tell you what else,’ Petra continued, ‘since the weekend I’ve not been alone in that house, not for five minutes. Most times they’re all out somewhere, at work or down the pub, but not for the past few days. There’s always been one of them there. It’s like they’re keeping an eye on me.’ She frowned down at the slice of lemon floating in the gin before lifting her gaze to meet Colleen’s again. ‘Oh, I know that sounds daft, like I’m paranoid or something, but I’m telling you it’s the God-honest truth. I can’t get five minutes on my own, not for love nor money.’

Colleen raised her eyebrows, perhaps not entirely convinced that Petra was under any kind of surveillance, but too much under the influence to try and offer up a more rational explanation.

‘Everyone needs a bit of quiet, don’t they? It ain’t too much to ask.’

‘No, it ain’t, not too much at all.’

‘So how do I sort this out? Wayne’s up to something. I can see it in his eyes. I said, didn’t I? He’s got that sneaky look about him. He was just the same when he was a kid. I could always tell when he was lying, and that was most of the time so I had plenty of practice.’

Colleen gave a snigger. ‘And since when did you ever let a bloke get the better of you? You’re getting soft in your old age.’

Petra frowned, wondering if this was true. She sipped at the gin and placed the glass back down on the table with a solid thump. ‘Oh, I’ll get to the bottom of it, you see if I don’t.’

Colleen gave Petra’s elbow a nudge. ‘That’s more like it. Come on, drink up and I’ll get us another.’

It was almost midnight when the two women finally staggered out of the pub and headed for home. They said their goodbyes at the corner and went their separate ways. Although Petra could normally hold her drink, tonight she’d had more than usual. The gin washed through her veins, making her feel both maudlin and resentful. Where had all the good years gone? It didn’t seem that long since she’d been young and carefree, looking forward instead of always looking back. What had she done to deserve this? She was lonely in Bournemouth and that was the truth of it; she missed her kids, Colleen, the familiar streets of London. Shoreditch was where she belonged and where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

The chill night air cut through her bones, making her shiver. She pursed her mouth, partly in response to the cold, but mainly in protest at the way she was being treated by her family. ‘It ain’t right,’ she muttered as she walked up the path to the house. She fumbled in her bag for her key, took it out, placed it in the lock, turned it and quietly opened and then closed the door. Unlike other members of the household she had some consideration for people who might be sleeping.

From the jackets hung up in the hallway, Petra could tell that both Wayne and Kelly were already home. She went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was late but she didn’t feel sleepy; there was too much rattling around in her head. She needed a brew and a chance to think.

Five minutes later, she was sitting down with her elbows on the table and a big mug of tea in front of her. She spooned in a couple of sugars and gave the tea a stir. It wasn’t easy to concentrate – the gin was blurring the edges of her thoughts – but as she drank she tried to make sense of what had been happening recently: Eddie’s murder, Kelly’s grief, the funeral, the shooting of Wayne at the cemetery. She felt there must be clues somewhere and she glanced around the kitchen as if one might be lurking in the cupboards or in between the pots and pans.

Petra’s gaze eventually drifted towards the cellar door. Her brow wrinkled as she recalled Wayne’s recent forays into its depths. A screwdriver, that’s what he’d claimed he’d been looking for, but he’d been down there more than once. Anyway, there were always tools lying around at the yard. No, he’d had another reason. She was sure of it.

If it hadn’t been for the booze, Petra would never have set foot inside the cellar. As it was, she still hesitated as she opened the door, flicked on the light and peered down into the gloom. With the slanting ceiling she couldn’t see further than the base of the steps. She didn’t want to go down, feared going down, but knew she had to.

Tentatively she made the descent, her left hand trailing along the dusty wall. When she reached the bottom, she drew in a breath, her eyes widening in confusion. Everything was different to how it had once been. Although it was an age since she’d last been here, she hadn’t forgotten what the place looked like.

The door leading off into the second smaller room was now completely obscured by a wide set of steel shelves covered in paint pots, boxes, tools and other random items. Bemused, she moved forward and stared at them. Why would anyone choose to put shelves here when there was plenty of other wall space? It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer. Wayne was hiding something he didn’t want anyone else to find.