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They had sat by the canal drinking the vodka she had taken from her bag. He remembered telling her about Maggie, and about how he didn’t want ever to be vulnerable to losing someone again, which was why he’d said he had a girlfriend, but he didn’t, not really.

And she had said not to worry, she didn’t want a boyfriend. She had a story too. The story of why she had left Durham to come here.

Her mum had died, and her dad was useless without her. Kind, and loving, but useless, and he had a friend, an evil pig called Jerry, who was not so kind and loving, and who took an interest in his friend’s daughter, and told her he would kill her if she said anything.

And she believed him. If he could do what he did then why would he not be capable of murder?

So she fled, and made a life here. And she told him she could see he was hurt as badly as she was and that made them safe for each other.

Then they had come here, to her flat, and drunk the rest of the vodka and he had gone to sleep on the mattress, Vicki in the bed, both glad the other had no interest in anything other than that.

He stood up – he was still fully clothed – and swayed as his head swam. When he was no longer dizzy he left the room. There was a corridor leading to an open door. Through it he could see a fridge and sink.

Vicki was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking. She looked up at him and smiled.

‘Feel OK?’

‘A bit rough.’

‘Me too. Coffee?’

He nodded. There was a cup in the sink; he rinsed it out and poured a coffee from a pot on the hob.

‘God,’ he said. ‘I feel awful.’

Vicki tapped her cigarette ash on to a saucer. ‘It’s a hangover. It’ll pass.’

‘Doesn’t do it justice.’ He swallowed half his coffee. ‘Thanks for letting me crash. I should get going.’

He reached for his phone. There were a lot of messages. The most recent was from his dad.

Hi. Let me know if you need a lift home. I’ve got work but can dip out.

His dad would be worried. He always was. He typed a reply.

I’m OK. Can take a bus.

He scrolled through the others. Toby, Mo. Andy. Asking where he’d got to, if he was with Vicki. If he’d got some action.

He felt sick. He didn’t want to talk to them about last night. Didn’t want to have to explain what had happened when he’d seen the girl who looked like Maggie.

He wanted to forget, but everything was a reminder.

‘Are you leaving?’ Vicki said. ‘You have somewhere to be?’

‘Not really,’ he said. He gestured to the door of the flat. ‘And I can’t face it anyway. I want to disappear.’

Vicki stood up and opened a cupboard. ‘I can’t help you with that,’ she said. ‘But I do have this.’ She took out a bottle. It looked like whisky. Cheap whisky; there was a picture of a boat on the label. She poured a slug into her coffee. ‘Want some?’

James looked at her, then shrugged.

‘Why not?’ he said.

6

Sandra sat in the treatment room at the hospital and wished she’d told Martin so he was with her now. She was sure this was going to turn out to be nothing, but right at that moment she was terrified.

A nurse opened the door to the treatment room.