‘Come on, come on,’ Sadie urged. ‘Please’.

She was about to press the bell again when a light came on in the hall and a figure appeared through the frosted glass. There was the sound of a bolt being pulled across and then the door swung open.

Velma, who was still dressed, stared at her for a moment. And then her jaw dropped as she realised who she was – and what state she was in. ‘Jesus Christ! What the —’

What happened next would remain forever engraved on Sadie’s memory. Almost simultaneously she heard the sound of the Capri moving off and a shout coming from the direction of the Fox.

‘Sadie! Sadie!’

She turned to see Mona Farrell hurtling across the street at exactly the same time as the car accelerated. There was a screech of brakes, a dull thump, a single piercing cry. She had a sense of time standing still before Mona was thrown into the air like a rag doll, her body twisting as she fell on to the bonnet of the Capri, bounced off and landed heavily on the pavement.

At first, paralysed by shock, Sadie couldn’t move. It was Velma who ran to help, Velma who knelt down beside the girl. Sadie stood watching, her gaze flicking between Mona and the car. And then, without much more than a second’s hesitation, Petra put her foot down and the red Capri shot off.

Sadie’s legs felt leaden as she forced herself to walk. She couldn’t understand it. What was Mona Farrell doing here? Where had she come from? Not that any of those questions really mattered any more. As she reached the end of the drive, Velma turned and shook her head.

‘We need to call an ambulance,’ Sadie said.

‘It’s too late, love. She’s dead.’

Sadie dropped her gaze to the limp, lifeless body of Mona. The girl was lying on her back. Her eyes were glassy, partly open. A thin trickle of blood was running from the corner of her mouth.

55

Despite the late hour the street suddenly began to fill. People seemed to appear from nowhere until a small crowd had gathered. Like moths drawn to a flame, they fluttered round, their voices hushed, their eyes drinking in the tragedy. A soft murmur rippled through the air. An elderly woman brought a blanket and placed it over Mona’s body.

Velma stood up, moved away and took hold of Sadie’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘We have to go.’

Sadie gazed at her, bemused. ‘We can’t just leave her.’

‘There’s nothing more we can do, love. The ambulance will be here soon, and so will the law.’

‘Which is why we have to stay,’ Sadie protested. ‘They’ll want to know what happened. They’ll want statements and —’

‘You do know they’re looking for you?’

‘Yes… no… I don’t know. I thought they might be. Joel must have told them I was missing.’

Velma gave her an odd look. ‘You don’t have a clue, do you?’

‘What do you mean?’

Velma shook her head. ‘Wait here a sec.’ She walked briskly up the drive, closed the door to Oaklands and came back to join her again. ‘We have to get away from here.’

Sadie didn’t understand what was going on. She was still reeling from the shock of the hit-and-run, still dazed, still in a state of partial disbelief. Her brain couldn’t fully register the reality of Mona lying dead on the pavement. ‘We can’t. I mean, it doesn’t feel right, leaving her like this.’

But already Velma had taken hold of her arm and was propelling her gently forward. ‘Don’t say anything. Just trust me, okay?’

Sadie, who was in no state to argue, allowed herself to be manoeuvred round the crowd. As they walked up the street, her confusion increased. Where were they going? Why were they leaving the scene of a crime? Petra Gissing had been drunk; she had killed Mona and just driven off. Mona Farrell was dead.

It wasn’t until they were a good ten yards from the accident that Velma finally spoke again. Her voice was low and anxious. ‘What happened to you, Sadie? Where have you been?’

‘The Gissings happened. They grabbed me on my way home, shoved me in a van, brought me to London and…’ Sadie shrugged, knowing that the rest was self-evident. Suddenly her experiences in the cellar seemed far away and distant, overlain by the more immediate horror of Mona’s death. ‘Wayne’s mother let me out. She drove me to Kellston and… I don’t understand what Mona was doing here. What was she doing here?’

‘I’ve no idea, hon.’

‘She was drunk, really drunk. Petra, I mean. I could smell it on her. She could barely drive in a straight line.’ Sadie paused and then, recalling what had been said earlier, asked: ‘What did you mean about me not having a clue?’

‘The police, love, that’s what I meant. They’ve been looking for you – they came to Oaklands – but not because your boyfriend reported you as missing.’

Sadie frowned. ‘I don’t —’

‘Have you ever heard of a guy called Peter Royston?’

‘He’s a reporter in Haverlea.’

‘Was,’ Velma said. ‘Not any more. I hate to tell you this but he was murdered on Saturday night.’

Sadie stopped dead in her tracks and stared at her. ‘What?’

‘Don’t stop,’ Velma said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She tugged on Sadie’s elbow again. ‘Come on, we’re almost there.’

Sadie, who had become used to doing what she was told over the past few days, obediently began walking again. ‘Dead? How… what… I don’t…’ But she could barely string her thoughts together, never mind a sentence.

‘And you went AWOL at the same time and no one knew where you were so…’ Velma sighed into the cold night air, her breath emerging in a small steamy cloud. ‘Well, you know what Old Bill’s like, always putting two and two together and making five.’

Sadie shuddered as she started to realise the kind of trouble she was in. Royston was dead and she was in the frame. ‘Where?’ she asked.

‘Huh?’

‘Royston. Where was he…’

‘Oh, at a fairground,’ Velma said. ‘Someone caved his head in, apparently.’

Sadie swallowed hard. She’d been supposed to meet Mona Farrell at the fair, had waited for her by the Big Wheel. Someone must have seen her and told the police. ‘And they think it was me?’

Velma veered left into Albert Road, pulling Sadie along with her. It was empty apart from two prostitutes standing hopefully on the corner at the far end. One of them was tugging on a cigarette, thin plumes of smoke rising from her mouth. Sadie found herself staring at the smoke as if it meant something, as though if she concentrated hard enough some answers could be found in a world that had gone mad.

‘Here we go,’ said Velma. She stopped by one of the old three-storey redbrick houses and pulled out a set of keys from her pocket. A few seconds later the door was open and they were inside. Velma reached for the light switch and the hallway lit up. She turned to gaze at Sadie. ‘Jesus Christ, look at you! You need a doctor.’

‘I’m all right.’ Sadie’s eyes met Velma’s and she quickly looked away. ‘Okay, I’m not all right but it’s just cuts and bruises. They’re the least of my problems from the sound of it.’

‘You need to get cleaned up,’ Velma said. ‘There’s a bathroom upstairs.’

Sadie looked around. Off the hallway, to the right, was what looked like a waiting room with two sofas and a coffee table heaped with glossy magazines. ‘Where are we exactly?’

‘Work. It’s all right, you’ll be safe here.’ Velma started walking up the stairs. ‘You can have a bath, or a shower if you’d rather. There’s plenty of hot water. There’s shampoo and soap on the shelf and clean towels in the cupboard.’

On the first-floor landing were four rooms, all with numbers painted on them. Velma went into Number 1 and emerged shortly after with a blue-and-white-striped dressing gown. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it to Sadie. ‘Don’t worry, it’s clean. The bathroom is down the far end.’