The Fall - By Claire McGowan

Keisha

Keisha took a very deep breath as the door to the Wormwood Scrubs visitors’ centre buzzed open. A clanging sound. Very final. Breathe, breathe, she reminded herself, walking across the floor. You aren’t arrested. You can leave any time you want.

When she woke up that morning, she had known what to do. A peaceful feeling. A way out of all this shit, these months of being frightened, hiding, turning things over and over in her head till she didn’t even know what she’d seen or what she knew any more. In the early dawn, she had quietly opened Charlotte’s desk and taken out stamps and paper – her stash from all those letters sent to Dan, wasted, never read most likely. Then she’d reached into the bottom of her bag and taken out the pages of the statement she’d started. Started and never finished.

It took her an hour to complete it. She’d never been much good with words, but she put down what she knew, what she remembered. What she needed to say. Then she folded it up, wrote an unfamiliar address on the front. Letting herself out of the flat before Charlotte stirred, she put on her shoes in the corridor, shut the front door quietly behind her, and went down the stairs.

Now here she was again at the prison, and there he was too. She almost turned and ran when she saw his face. Hopeful. He hadn’t looked at her like that for a long time.

‘Wasn’t sure you’d come back.’ He tried to take her hand across the table but she put it in her lap.

‘You OK?’ He was looking at her closely. ‘You don’t look so good, Keesh. You all right?’

She almost laughed at that. He was in jail and her kid was in care and she could be arrested any second, and he asked was she all right? ‘You don’t look too good either.’ And he didn’t. His skin was sort of grey, eyes bloodshot. She saw his knuckles were torn.

Chris saw her looking and folded his arms. ‘I’m not good. Need you to help me. You think any more about it?’

‘I thought about it, yeah. Didn’t think about much else.’

‘So?’

She sighed. ‘So, maybe I’ll help you. You’re Ruby’s dad. And you and me – well.’ She shrugged to indicate all their long history, more than half her life in love with him. ‘But I need you to tell me something first.’

‘Anything, babe.’ His hand was snaking across the table again, reaching for hers. She let him take it and she leaned in close.

‘Did you?’ She whispered it. He knew what she was asking; of course he did. ‘Just tell me. That’s all I ask. Tell me if you did it.’

There was a long silence between them, stretching out as if for years, and in it she could see all their time together, all the good, all the bad.

After a while he said, ‘He was a bit of a wanker, Anthony Johnson, did you know that?’

She waited.

‘He disrespected me. Said I could f*ck off back to the little boys. He was a man now, he’d left all that behind. Said to tell them they could go and piss for their money.’

She was surprised by how calm her voice was. ‘It was them, then, that Gospel Oak lot? They sent you?’ A stupid gang of overgrown teenagers, trying to frighten Anthony Johnson into paying back the money with a visit from Chris. He nodded.

‘And you went back, after you left me. You picked up the bottle he dropped, is that it? The banker. And then you . . .’

Another nod. Slow.

‘So – just ’cos he laughed at you?’

Chris rubbed at his knuckles. ‘I never meant it. He aggravated me.’

She was trying to take it in. ‘And so . . . you’d let this other fella do time for it?’

‘He punched him, that Stockbridge guy, didn’t he? He was just lucky. Could have hurt him more, couldn’t he? I never meant it. Just lost my temper.’

She heard herself say, ‘That’s what you said before. When Ruby – after what you did. You “lost your temper”.’

He hissed, ‘Keesh! It was an accident, both times were! I never meant it, then he was – all blood everywhere, and he was like choking in it and I just panicked. I ran and . . . and these guys, the Parky Boys, they don’t f*ck about. They said if I went to the cops they’d go after everyone – me, you, the kid.’

Ice slid down her throat. ‘Ruby?’

He said slowly, ‘I didn’t know what else to do. Then the cops got that banker fella – well, he’s had a good life, why shouldn’t he go down? He was just lucky it wasn’t him. It was an accident. I f*cked up.’ He was rubbing furiously at his shaved head. ‘You gotta help me. They’ll go after you too, the cops.’

Keisha pushed her chair out. He raised his voice. ‘You gotta help me! You knew all this time, and you never said nothing!’

She was standing up.

‘Think about your kid!’ he yelled. ‘Both of us locked up! Think about it!’

She was going. She wasn’t looking back. As she left the prison she dropped her letter into the first postbox she passed, and walked away.


Charlotte

As the trial went on, eventually even Charlotte was lost among the endless back and forward of facts, interpretations, suggestions. Finally it was time for Dan to speak in his own defence. He took the stand to a huge swell of interest, the whole courtroom of reporters and family and jeerers and well-wishers all waiting to hear what he was going to say.

Adam Hunt had managed to build up quite a picture of Dan with the prosecution witnesses. A privileged young man, sent to Westminster and Oxford, continuing his sense of entitlement into his banking career. (She thought that was a bit rich, considering Adam Hunt QC had almost certainly gone to public school and Oxbridge too.) A man who used drugs, bullied interns, lashed out when his platinum card was declined. Who could have been responsible for the vicious sprays of blood all over the walls of that office. She hoped Kylie would manage to change this picture. Because as it stood, even Charlotte didn’t much like the person who’d emerged.

Then it was Kylie’s turn. She stood up, giving Dan a big smile. Charlotte loved her for it, at that moment. Everyone else in the room was staring at him as if he was dirt on their shoes.

‘Mr Stockbridge. You are accused here of a very serious crime; the most serious, of taking a life. What did it feel like when you were first arrested?’

Dan looked surprised; this was a very different tack to the endless rehashing about prints and blood and CCTV. ‘I was shocked, I suppose. I thought it must be a mistake. I knew that we’d fought – I just got angry, I’d had such a bad day. But I thought . . . I thought he was OK, the – Anthony Johnson. He even laughed at me, after I – after I hit him.’

‘Can you tell the court what you remember about the night?’

Dan was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. Everyone watched, breath drawn in. ‘There’s bits that are gone. I’d had a few – blackouts, I suppose. At work, a few times. It was so stressful. I really don’t think I could have coped much longer.’

‘Can you tell us why that was?’ She was quiet, probing, more like a therapist than a barrister.

Dan thought for a moment. ‘The bank was going under. I was so stressed out, and, well, there were things going on that we knew to be – in some cases – illegal. We knew that if we didn’t toe the line we’d be fired, but if we did these things, we could go to prison.’ He smiled briefly, bitterly. ‘I didn’t know then I’d end up there anyway.’

‘Can you tell us what put you under so much stress?’

‘I was thinking of – I was trying to put evidence together. Whistle-blow, I suppose you’d call it, but it wasn’t as dramatic as that. I just . . . I knew I could be arrested any day, and there was my wedding coming up – yes. So there was a huge amount of pressure, yes.’ He looked at his hands.

Kylie was gentle with Dan. She took him through his version of that night, the worry and the drugs, the club, the row, the brief time he had been in the office, the taxi home.

‘Was there anything unusual when you got home?’

‘My knuckle was a bit sore, and I had a small spot of blood on my sleeve. That was all. I was so tired, I just threw my clothes on the floor, and then next thing I knew, the police were at the door.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Mr Stockbridge. That’s all.’

Adam Hunt QC was ready with his big guns. ‘Is it fair to say, Mr Stockbridge, that on the tenth of May this year, you had one of the worst days of your life? Your bank was collapsing – source of all that wealth and status. You knew you might lose the luxury flat, the lavish wedding you planned with your fiancée.’ Charlotte cringed. Her neck was burning as hundreds of eyes bored into her.

‘It was a bad day,’ said Dan evenly.

‘To ease your tension, you decided to indulge in a binge of cocaine and alcohol, is that correct?’

Charlotte made a very small ‘huh’ sound; Adam Hunt QC was laying it on a bit thick. As if he wouldn’t drink, if someone told him he was getting fired.

‘Isn’t it true, Mr Stockbridge, that in the magistrates’ court you said, “I’m so sorry, God, I’m sorry”?’

‘I did, yes.’ Dan gritted his teeth.

‘May we ask why you would do this, if, as you profess, you are innocent?’

Sweat stood out on his forehead. ‘Because I’d heard the evidence. I thought – I just wasn’t sure. Those people – they were all shouting. I don’t know what I thought.’

Up went the eyebrows. ‘Surely you would know whether you were guilty?’

‘But that’s the thing. I’ve tried and I just don’t remember. It’s – well, it’s sort of like a big black hole where the memory should be.’

‘Had you suffered from memory loss before?’

Dan’s brow was sweating. ‘Not really. I mean, yes, it had happened a few times. Work was extremely stressful during that time. Extremely.’

‘Just answer the question, please. Record that Mr Stockbridge said yes.’ The lawyer shuffled his papers. ‘Would you call yourself a racist, Mr Stockbridge?’

Dan looked away. ‘I’m really sick of that question.’

‘Just answer it, please.’

Dan’s thin face was set in hard lines. ‘No, I am not a racist. I’m not. Just because he was black, you can’t assume that.’

‘Mr Johnson was, as you say, black.’ Hunt managed to make it sound as if Dan had made a racial slur. What else were you supposed to say? ‘The court has seen a number of statements to the effect that you subjected the victim to racial abuse before the murder, is that correct?’

Dan just shook his head. ‘No. It’s not true.’

‘But you have previously said you do not remember everything?’

‘I – I don’t know. But I know I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Does the name Rumila Chakri mean anything to you, Mr Stockbridge?’

‘No.’ Dan barely opened his mouth.

‘You didn’t work with her at Haussmann’s last year?’

He looked confused. ‘Oh, yes. Rumila. I forgot her name.’

Charlotte put her head in her hands. What was wrong with him? Was he trying to come across as an arsehole?’

‘Ms Chakri was hired from university as a junior analyst, but she left after just three months, alleging serious racial and sexual harassment from the team at Haussmann’s. That team included you, did it not?’

‘Yeah, but – it’s always like that. You banter with people. Shows you can rely on them, when your ass is on the line.’

‘Mr Stockbridge, please watch your language,’ said the judge sternly.

The lawyer frowned at his paper again. ‘Would you say calling someone a “terrorist Paki” was banter?’

Dan looked irritated. ‘I never called her that.’

‘She didn’t accuse specific people. But the fact remains, a young Asian woman was forced from her post due to sustained racial harassment by your team, was she not?’

‘I suppose. Whatever.’ His hands were shaking again.

‘To go back to the night of the murder. You became embroiled in a row with the victim, is that correct?’

‘We had words.’

‘And when these “words” became heated, you went to the victim’s office to settle the score?’

‘Not settle the score, I mean, yes, we went, but—’

Adam Hunt QC stared round the courtroom to make a dramatic point. ‘And was it not in this office that Mr Johnson was found dead just ten minutes later? Bled to death from a neck wound inflicted with a broken beer bottle – a bottle, Mr Stockbridge, covered in your fingerprints?’

Dan was shaking his head. ‘No. I mean, yes, they were on it, but I didn’t—’

‘And after you lashed out, I put it to you that you fled the scene, leaving the victim to bleed to death, and you went home to your luxury flat with your fiancée. Is that correct?’

Again Charlotte made a tiny incredulous noise. He hadn’t exactly been there, had he, to know all this? This time Adam Hunt QC glanced over and she flushed tomato-red.

Dan said, ‘I went home, yes, but he was fine. I swear he was fine.’

‘But you don’t remember, do you? As you have previously stated?’

‘No.’ His voice was very small.

And on it went, through the racist accusations and the bullying and the workplace blackouts and the prints on the bottle and the fight he’d had with Anthony Johnson, and once again that big killer, that no one else had been seen going in or coming out until the man was found, dead, his blood already leaked out all over the floor. Dan had nothing to say to these facts, inarguable as they were. He sat with his head down and Charlotte’s heart sank with every word.

At the end Adam Hunt said, ‘Let me ask you this, Mr Stockbridge. Did you feel that you, as a wealthy, privileged young man, could act with impunity? That you could attack a black man, and go unpunished?’

At this several people clapped, and the judge glared. Adam Hunt looked officially disapproving but wildly pleased, the twat.

Dan’s face was shining with sweat. He twisted his hands together. ‘No. I don’t think that. I didn’t. Of course not. But you see, I didn’t—’

‘Thank you. No further questions.’

The courtroom sat in stunned silence as Kylie got up again. ‘Can you describe exactly what happened with the intern, Ms Chakri?’

Dan seemed to be struggling. ‘The atmosphere was – I could describe it as kill or be killed. If you couldn’t cope, you were no use to us. So I suppose we tested people.’

‘Tested them how?’

‘You could call it bullying, I suppose, but it wasn’t that really. It was seen as totally normal for that environment. With her, the girl, it was maybe because she was Asian, but it could be anything. Your sore points.’

‘To summarise, you’re saying that bullying was normal for the way your team functioned?’

‘Yes. The reason I don’t remember her that well, it was because people started every week and then they left. Couldn’t hack it.’

‘Why did you stay?’

His eyes found Charlotte’s; she looked away. ‘I felt I needed the money. I felt trapped into that life. And what I’d done, I knew some of it wasn’t legal. You see, they had you by the . . . they had you where they wanted you.’

Very quietly, Kylie asked, ‘How do you feel now about what happened?’

He leaned forward and put his hands to his face. ‘I’m so sorry. It must be so awful, to have someone just die like that.’

She nodded gently; go on.

‘But now – I don’t know if I did it. I’ve been in prison for months. I’ve lost my job, my wedding – my life. If it wasn’t me, well, I shouldn’t be punished any more. I’ve had enough.’

The judge had to call for order four times before the noise died down. Dan was led out again, and this time he looked back, and for the first time Charlotte caught his eye and held it. He met hers, strong and steady, and for a long moment they just looked at each other across the courtroom, as if no one else was there. Then he was gone, and she felt her knees almost give way at the tidal wave of feeling that swamped her.


Hegarty

The trial went on, experts and Forensics from both sides wrangling over the details, evidence piled up and then just as quickly whipped away, like a magic trick. Kylie pushing all her facts – the scene had been contaminated, no one had checked the other CCTV, and the irrefutable fact that Daniel Stockbridge’s clothes and most importantly his shoes had not been covered in Anthony Johnson’s blood. The prosecution hammering home their own points – the prints on the bottle, the overheard row, the fact that no one else was seen going in or out of the office before the body was found.

Days of argument went by on whether or not Dan would have been spattered with blood. The expert Kylie had wheeled out was a big noise in the government and he felt, although he wouldn’t commit fully, of course, that on balance the defendant would have had ‘substantial spatter of bodily fluids, most notably on the soles of his shoes’. Kylie dwelled for a long time over a computer model the expert had done for her that showed blood had gone all over the walls of the office, as high as the top of the door.

‘Would someone standing there have been in the trajectory?’ Her questions were so sweet, like she was amazed at the expertise before her.

The old guy liked her, you could tell. ‘I would expect to see that, yes.’

‘From the CCTV when he emerged, did the defendant have any visible blood on him at all?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘And from the forensic reports you were able to review, was there any blood on the shoes Mr Stockbridge wore that night?’

‘There wasn’t, no.’

‘Thank you, Dr Smith.’ She smiled at him with her wide blue eyes. Damn, Hegarty had to admit, she was good at what she did, even if this sweet-as-pie act was fake as Adam Hunt’s hair. The court watched the CCTV to prove the lack of bloodstains, and noted how Dan was shown weaving and swaying on his way out, bumping into the door as if drunk – or blacking out. It was also clear there was no bottle in his hand when he came out.

But then it all changed again. Adam Hunt tore into the witness, asking over and over whether the wound could have been plugged until the defendant had left the room. Dr Smith had to admit it was possible.

And on and on with the studies and the models and the arguing over what direction blood had spilled. God, they could really make a gory murder into a snooze-fest. Half the courtroom looked to be asleep. Charlotte was propping herself up on her hands. She saw Hegarty looking and smiled as if caught out; it was so boring, what could you do? More forensics experts were wheeled out – he could just imagine how much this was costing the Stockbridges, but then they could probably afford it.

Kylie then re-questioned Dr Smith and was now worrying at another detail like a dog with a bone. ‘Doctor, you re-examined the police findings, I believe. The glass bottle – in the prosecution’s theory, in order to be used as a weapon, it would have been smashed somewhere in the office, we assume? Aside from the shattering that occurred after the bottle had been used, was any glass found in the room?’

‘It wasn’t,’ said the doctor. ‘But it could have been disturbed, of course. There was considerable disarray at the scene, suggesting several people had been in and out. I believe the staff had tried to help the victim when they discovered him.’

Kylie let that sink in; she knew they wouldn’t win by avoiding the sad central fact of this case, that a man was dead. ‘And was broken glass found anywhere else in the building?’

‘Yes, outside in the corridor. The defendant could have smashed it going in. It could also be that Daniel Stockbridge simply dropped the bottle outside the room – on his way out, crucially – and some other person picked it up and used it on the victim.’

Someone gasped. The doctor continued, ‘We just can’t tell from the forensic evidence.’

‘Meaning we can’t tell if Daniel Stockbridge struck the fatal blow?’

‘Not for certain, no.’

The room exploded into murmurs, the judge called for order, and Hegarty caught Kylie’s eye, and the flicker of her almost unnoticeable wink. ‘My Lord,’ she said. ‘The defence calls DC Matthew Hegarty again.’

Bloody hell. This was it.

Kylie shifted on her feet at her desk, her robes almost trailing on the floor. ‘Officer Hegarty, as we know, no one else went into the corridor from the club. Can you tell the court how many exits there are from this corridor?’

Oh, crap. But he’d agreed to it, hadn’t he? No going back now. He cleared his throat. ‘There’s the main door, and there’s also a back door, to an alley.’

She let this sink in. ‘To confirm, there are two main doors leading into and out of the corridor? Could you indicate on the diagram, please?’ She even had a floorplan of the club, the office marked in a red cross, the staffroom and storeroom there, and at the back the fateful door. ‘Please describe this door to us, DC Hegarty.’

What a daft question. It was door-shaped? In the wall? ‘An iron door,’ he said carefully. ‘A fire escape sign on it, and an alarm warning.’

‘The door was alarmed, to be clear?’

He hung his head. ‘I don’t know if we checked.’

‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that?’ Kylie, who had perfectly good hearing, was all sweetness and light.

‘I don’t know if we checked if it was definitely on an alarm or not, that night. The sign said it was.’

She let that one sink in, too, a little smile playing round her mouth. There was Charlotte, behind a fat man. She was pale. Her eyes locked on Hegarty.

Kylie said, ‘So, to confirm, Officer, there is a back door, which may or may not have been alarmed on the night in question.’

He stammered, ‘I think I made a mistake. Yes. I didn’t check.’

Murmurs spread out through the room and the judge tutted again.

‘Thank you. That’s all.’ Kylie sat down abruptly.

Hunt got up. ‘You recently took yourself off this case, did you not, Officer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Shit. Shit. ‘I, er . . . I felt I was not as impartial as I should be.’

‘How would you describe your relationship with Miss Miller, Mr Stockbridge’s fiancée?’

Hegarty glanced at Kylie to see would she yell out, ‘Objection!’ like they did on telly, but she just sat there calmly. ‘We got to be friends, I suppose.’

Hunt turned over his papers. ‘Isn’t it true, Officer, that, according to your own statement, you visited her in Singapore over a month back?’

‘Well, I was in transit, but . . .’

‘Yes or no, Officer?’

‘Yes, I did.’

Hunt pointed. ‘I put it to you, DC Hegarty, that you have fallen for Miss Miller, to the serious detriment of this case and your investigation. Is that correct?’

‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Is that correct, Officer? You have developed unprofessional feelings for Miss Miller?’

‘I . . .’

‘Answer the question!’

There was a sliding sound, a chink of metal off wood, and all heads turned. Daniel Stockbridge had fallen forward, hitting his head on the glass of the dock. His eyes rolled, a bubble of spit foamed at his mouth. The courtroom exploded in noise.

‘Can someone call a doctor?’ said Kylie in clear tones, over the hubbub. ‘Mr Stockbridge is having a seizure.’


Keisha

‘There you are!’ Ron was in the office when she showed up, staring at his computer again. It made her sad to see how he looked up when she went in. Like he’d missed her. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages, missus. Where you been?’

‘Had to go to prison.’ She was standing in the doorway, still in her jacket.

He smiled. ‘Been doing armed robbery again?’

She didn’t laugh. ‘Had to visit my ex. Chris, you know.’

‘Oh. What’s he done?’

She had to tell him. There was no more time left. ‘Stabbed someone in a bar.’ She saw his open face slide into confusion. She had to tell him. Had to tell him now.

Keisha took a deep breath. The filing cabinet was digging into her back. ‘You know I was here that night, yeah? When your brother . . . Chris, he had some business with your Anthony. Dunno what it was. Anyway, when it all kicks off, Chris scarpers, leaves me at the club on my own. And when I get home, he’s there in bed. So I’m thinking, That’s a bit weird. Then I see his shoes. All covered in red. Stepped on a kebab, he says, but I’m thinking, That don’t look like ketchup to me.’

She could see his hands, gripping the desk. She went on. ‘So then Monday comes, he wants to go to court – this bail hearing. That’s when your Rachel gave Dan’s girl a kicking – Charlotte, that was.’

‘Charlotte?’ His face creased in confusion.

‘Yeah, so I says to Chris, Why’d we go, why’d you set those girls on Charlotte? He asked that Mel to steal her purse, you know. And when I ask him, he hits me – see?’ She pointed at the faint scar over her eye. ‘Then he puts me out, and next I hear he’s after me and Charlotte. So I went to Char’s, to warn her, like. And, you know, I ended up staying. Didn’t have nowhere else to go.’

Ronald was staring at the computer like it was a really hard Sudoku. ‘You’re saying you think your fella, this Chris, had something to do with our Anthony? But – they got the guy for it.’

‘I dunno, do I? I’m not on the bloody police, am I?’

She saw it spread through him, the shock, until he was rigid. ‘You been here all this time, and you never told me? They maybe got the wrong fella and you never said?’

‘I dunno! How’m I meant to know?’

‘You should of told me.’ He looked up at her. ‘Thought you was different, Keesh.’

‘I’m sorry! What was I meant to say? “I saw my ex and his shoes were red all over”? Doesn’t prove anything, does it?’

‘You should of said something.’

She was still standing at the door. Last time she’d been there he’d kissed her. When she was finished with what she had to say, he’d never want to see her again. She was sure of that, but she had to say it anyway. ‘They want me in court,’ she said desperately. May as well tell him everything. ‘They want me to say about Chris, but I went to see him, and he asked me not to, he said we can start again and we’ll get Ruby back . . . You ever wonder why the kid doesn’t live with me, eh? You wonder why? Well, it’s ’cos he broke her arm. Comes home one day, he’s been fired ’cos of the recession, and she’s just trying to give him a hug, make him feel better, but she spills his beer. So her own dad broke her little arm, and this guy, this guy still asks me to help him after that. So what’m I meant to do? How do I know they won’t come after me too, and then what’ll happen to my Ruby?’ She was crying. ‘What’ll I do, Ron? Tell me and I’ll do it.’

‘You’re asking me? For f*ck’s sake.’ Ronald hardly ever swore. He went to church, for God’s sake.

‘Yeah, you tell me. He was your brother. I don’t know nothing any more. You tell me. Will I do it?’

He was staring at his hands, saying nothing. She felt it all rising up in her, desperate, spilling over, like she was going to scream or something. ‘I never even told anyone everything. There’s more.’

He looked up. His face was terrible but she kept going. ‘I saw. You see? I was in the loos that night, when they had that row – your brother, and that banker. When I come out I see Chris is gone, left me, the twat, and there’s still shouting. So I just wait there by the loos.’ She pointed through the wall to where she’d waited in the dark, that night when everything had gone so wrong. ‘And I see him come back out, Dan Stockbridge. You saw it on the CCTV – all swaying, like he’s drunk, yeah. No blood on him. I wrote it all on this here computer, when I was here.’

Ronald made a quick movement like he was going to lash out, and she backed away. ‘Listen, wait. Everyone saw that, I know, but I saw down the corridor, from where I was. You know? I was right beside the door, and it swings open, and I see Dan Stockbridge drop the bottle and smash it there in the corridor. Not in the office.’ She pointed again. ‘Out there, in the corridor. After he comes out. You see? I saw it.’

There was a long pause. His voice was awful, choked. ‘Did you see my brother? Did you see him, still alive?’

Keisha tried to remember, the dark of the club, the flashing lights, someone glimpsed down a corridor in the time it took for a door to swing shut. How could she know then how important it was going to be, how many lives would depend on that split second?

‘I – I think so,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I never knew for sure – didn’t know what I was looking at, did I? I didn’t know it’d matter. But I think so. There was someone standing there . . . You know, I might go to prison too, Ron. And Ruby – what’ll happen to her? Who’ll look after her? She’s got no one. So you tell me now, Ronald Johnson, you tell me, will I do it?’

He got up, scraping his chair back. ‘What, tell the f*cking truth for once? Yeah, you do it, Keisha. But don’t come back here after, yeah?’

‘I’m sorry!’

He shook his head. ‘Just go.’

She backed out. ‘You’re the one with the bloody computer. What you got on it? You never gave that to the police, did you?’

Ronald froze.

‘Yeah, Rachel told me. Said he was into everything, your brother, up to his bloody guts in the gangs. You really think it was some City banker knocked him off?’

He sagged. It was awful to see, such a tall, strong man. ‘He was my brother.’

‘Yeah, well, Chris was my boyfriend.’

Ronald looked at her. Neither of them said anything for a long time. ‘Oh, f*ck it.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.

She couldn’t help it any more, not since she’d cried that night over stupid Ian Stone. The tears were running over her face and into her mouth as she packed up her staff locker, taking out an empty can of Impulse, a picture of Ruby.

‘What’s this then?’ Dario burst in, preening at his cropped hair in the mirror. ‘You’re late.’

‘Been f*cking fired, haven’t I? You’ll have to get Rachel back on tills.’

‘Crap,’ he muttered. ‘You OK?’ He looked at her full on, no sympathy.

She swallowed down the tears but they didn’t stop. A week ago it’d have killed her to cry in front of Dario, but now it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing did. ‘I’ll be fine, OK? Just sick of this – always moving on, leaving people. Even when it’s a rubbish job. You get used to people, don’t you?’

Dario looked in the mirror again, rubbed down one of his eyebrows. ‘There’s always more people, babes. You don’t need the ones you think you do, not always.’

But Ronald. How did you find another Ronald? A six-foot-four brick shithouse who made curry, was nice to his mum.

‘Look at me,’ Dario pointed to himself. ‘Whole family kicked me out, said I was an offence to God.’ He turned to go, clapping her on the arm with more real feeling than any of his air-kisses. ‘There’s always more people. You’ll be OK, Keisha Collins.’

For a second she wanted to ask him if his name was really Dario. But maybe it was better not to know. As she went out into the early dusk of London streets, bars crowded on the warm autumn night, buses rumbling, it was a funny thought to know that Chris couldn’t be near. For once she knew exactly where he was, and there was no need to look around and look back again as she set off home.

Keisha went to Charlotte’s. No one was there; Charlotte had gone out for dinner with Dan’s folks. That was pretty much all they did, eat out, and the mother was always complaining things were ‘too rich’.

In the quiet flat, Keisha picked up the phone and listened to the dialling tone, before keying in the number on a scrap of napkin she’d dug out of her purse. She stood there with her tongue out, listening to it ring for a long time. ‘Hi,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘This is Keisha here. Keisha Collins. You said you’d help me, if I needed it. Well, I do need it. I really need some help.’