came; why would they? On the streets you think the next person will notice you, the next one will help, but you’re kidding yourself. No one ever helps, no one ever comes. Except Harm.
‘I’m pregnant.’ May held her head up when she said it, as if he couldn’t touch her now. As if pregnant made a difference. She had a little sister she loved more than anything, and she’d always wanted a baby. I’d hoped I’d meet her sister one day. But right that minute all I could see was him, the way he buried her with his stare.
‘Go to your room.’
After all his lectures, his rules …
I’m pregnant.
What had she done?
May’s room was directly under mine. She shared it with Ashleigh and with the plastic water barrels, crates of toilet rolls, cleaning products, batteries. Self-sufficiency, Harm said, survival. Everything was right there. No need to worry ever again about being cold or wet or hungry. No need to leave, ever. We were all we needed, Harm said, and I’d thought we were safe.
Go to your room.
No one was knocking at the door. Even if they were, Harm would get rid of them; securing the perimeter wasn’t something you did once and then forgot about. You had to stay on your guard, on your toes, frosty and alert.
I’m pregnant.
I saw his face, when he sent us to our rooms. He looked in pain. As if there was a storm inside his head and he heard it crying, like a baby. May’s baby. Standing by the blacked-out window, his fingers touching the glass, and it was like I could see inside him, hot and red. He hurt . I thought …
We were like pain to him. Pushing our noise through the walls, needing to be held, having to be fed. If he was a woman, he’d be leaking, his whole body pulled by the pain, unable to resist. But he was a man and so he held the pain at bay, hoping it would settle, fearing what would happen if it didn’t. Christie and Ashleigh and May …
All of us within reaching distance, grabbing distance.
Standing by the window, kissing the ends of his fingers to taste the grey of the glass.
It made me ache with fear.
When May said, ‘I’m pregnant,’ before I could stop myself, just for a second, I’d thought:
You’re dead.
9
At the station, OCU Commander Welland said, ‘Traffic called. They want their crime scene back. Something about a bloodstained shirt in a skip?’
‘It was in a wheelie bin.’
‘Well, it’s got their knickers in a twist. They want to know why our major incident team is investigating their skid marks.’ Welland eyed Marnie and Noah. His face had a toehold on his temper, his brow heavy. ‘They’ve got a point. Even if this turns fatal, it’s Traffic’s.’
‘We’re looking for the girl from the crash,’ Marnie said. ‘We think she’s at risk of harm.’
‘Because of the bloodstained shirt? Where’re you up to with it?’
‘Fran Lennox has the shirt. We’re searching the estate where we found it. This girl’s not the first teenager to go missing in that part of London in the last twelve weeks. She might even be May Beswick. If there’s the slightest chance of that …’
Welland gave a slow nod. ‘This is the Garrett estate. DS Carling’s favourite vacation spot, the arsonist’s Algarve. But someone was sober enough to see this girl last night?’
‘Emma Tarvin,’ Noah said. ‘She confirmed what Joe Eaton told us about the girl looking like she’s in trouble, probably traumatised.’
‘Tarvin.’ Welland pulled at his upper lip. ‘She’s the nosy neighbour?’
‘She keeps a record,’ Marnie said, ‘of everyone who comes within eight feet of her front door.’
‘That’s a lot of wasted paper.’
‘Faster than processing CCTV.’
‘So’s a striking snail, but I wouldn’t put one forward as a witness for the CPS. You’re doing house-to-house?’
Marnie nodded. ‘But not everyone’s as keen to talk to us as Mrs Tarvin.’
‘You astound me.’ Welland snorted. ‘Communal living at its finest. Last time I was on the