Good Friday

Chapter Nine

Jane had only had two hours sleep when her alarm woke her. After the torment of the previous night she felt strangely calm. She dressed quickly and applied some foundation and rouge to her face, then decided to mascara her eyelashes and use a little brown eyeshadow. She wore one of her smartest and most expensive suits, over a white clerical-collar shirt with starched cuffs. It was only seven thirty but she hoped she would miss the heavy traffic she’d encountered the previous morning with DS Stanley.

Before leaving, Jane put in a call to DCI Crowley at the Yard, but was told he had gone directly to Woolwich from home and wasn’t expected at the Yard until later. She then tried to call DCI Church. He wasn’t in the Dip Squad office but Stanley took the call. He sounded his usual groggy self and Jane was certain he had more than likely slept the night in the office again.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but I wanted to ask a favour. I need a criminal records check on the girl who wants to rent a room in my flat. Her name’s—’

‘Pearl Radcliff… I’ve done it, she’s clean, no record.’

It took a second or two to sink in before Jane realised the obvious. ‘You’ve been snooping round my flat, Stanley. How dare you!’

‘I was only thinking of you, Jane. Besides, you’d have had to check her out anyway…’

‘That’s not the point, Stanley. It’s my flat, my belongings, and—’

‘OK, it won’t happen again.’

‘Too right it won’t, because I don’t want you coming round to my flat anymore.’ Jane put the phone down, seething.

She had miscalculated her travel time again, because if anything the traffic was even worse than yesterday. Her hopes of catching DCI Crowley before he returned to the Yard were looking slim, and she wondered if she should have gone straight to the hospital to see Daphne. By the time she had parked in the allocated area for assistant laboratory staff, it was after nine. She was pleased to see Crowley’s car still there, but vowed that from now on she would take public transport, rather than drive.

Jane showed her ID pass again and was allowed entry to the lab floor. She then proceeded towards the small offices, hoping to find Crowley there. A clerical worker was just coming out as Jane approached. She told Jane that DCI Crowley was in the canteen having breakfast, but as Jane approached the lifts and the doors opened, Crowley stepped out holding a paper plate of sausages and a bread roll, with a mug of coffee in the other hand.

‘Morning, sir.’

He gave her a surly glance, and would have walked past her if she hadn’t asked for a few moments of his time.

‘You told me to go to St Thomas’ this morning, sir, to interview—’

‘Yes, yes… I know. So, what are you doing here?’

Jane followed him along the corridor to his office, and held the door open for him as he had his hands full.

‘Well, I needed to know what name Daphne would now be under as I assume, for security purposes, she wouldn’t be using her own name?’

‘There’s an armed guard by her room. Her full name is Daphne Millbank. She’s registered under the name “Patient C” and I am sure it is obvious that there will be no ID on her door. She has come out of her coma but is still very weak. I checked this morning and they said she’s quite coherent, so the sooner you get there to speak with her, the better.’

After her flashback, Jane was certain that the man in the surveillance photo and artist’s sketch wasn’t the man she had seen at Covent Garden. She realised that if Daphne said the same she’d have further proof she was right.

‘I have a copy of the artist’s sketch of the suspect,’ she said. ‘I’ll show it to Daphne and see if she recognises him.’

‘I’d rather one of my team did that, as her description of the suspect is critical to the investigation. It needs an experienced bomb squad officer to go over the finer facial details. You just deal with her version of events and what she saw.’

Crowley carefully placed his sausages inside the roll, then opened a packet of HP sauce and squirted the contents over the sausages.

‘I understand Church spoke to my father,’ Jane said. ‘Could I ask what protection is in place for my parents?’

‘It’s all in hand, Tennison… So far there’s been only an ominous silence from the terrorists, and it is quite possible the suspect and his cohorts have gone to ground. It remains for you to be extremely vigilant and, as I ordered yesterday, you should to go to the hospital and talk to the other witness.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m then due to go to Covent Garden with DS Dexter, so should I return to work here afterwards?’

‘Yes. Is there anything else, Tennison?’

‘No, sir.’

Jane left Crowley’s office. As she was walking past the lab, DS Lawrence approached her.

‘Looking a bit smart for a day’s work out in the rubble?’ he said.

‘I’m going to St Thomas’, to interview the lady who saw the suspect.’

He nodded, then moved closer. ‘Is everything all right with you?’

‘Yes. Why, does it look as if it isn’t?’

‘No, to the contrary, you look terrific. Will you be coming back later?’

‘Yes, but not until this afternoon.’

‘See you then.’

Lawrence walked off, leaving Jane feeling a bit tetchy. She was getting irritated with everyone checking up on her and asking how she was. Blackwall Tunnel was just as bad as it had been earlier in the morning, and the City was bumper to bumper with rush-hour traffic. By the time Jane reached St Thomas’ hospital it was nearly eleven. She made her way up to the ward and approached the nursing bay where she showed her ID and asked if Nurse Mitchell was on duty.

A stout nurse at the desk looked her up and down. before telling her he was accompanying a patient to theatre.

‘Oh. I’m really here to see a patient. She’s under the name of Patient C.’

The nurse checked Jane’s ID, then gestured for Jane to walk ahead of her. In contrast to the last time she had been here, the atmosphere was now strangely quiet and eerie. The dark green lino floors, the strong smell of disinfectant, combined with the almost echoing silence all made Jane feel uncomfortable. They eventually stopped to speak with a doctor who seemed irritated that Jane had not sought his permission before approaching his patient.

‘She’s quite remarkable, really. She’s very intelligent, but she tires easily and is on strong medication for the pain, although she no longer requires a morphine drip. You’ll see some deep bruises on her arms — those are from the catheters required for her surgery. She’s been breathing on her own since last night. But she’ll need a lot of treatment and care for some considerable time. You can have a few moments with her… the nurse will direct you.’

Jane followed the portly nurse past curtained booths busy with nurses, until they reached the double doors leading to the private rooms at the end of the ward. An overweight armed officer, who looked as if he was about to burst out of his uniform, sat outside Daphne’s room, reading the Sun. He immediately rose to his feet when he saw Jane, folding the paper and placing it on the chair. The straining belt around his rotund stomach had a radio hanging from a clip at his waist, and a.38 revolver.

‘I’m WDC Jane Tennison,’ she said, showing her warrant card.

The officer took her card and nodded.

‘I’ll bring you a mug of tea when I get a minute,’ the nurse said to the officer. ‘Two sugars, right?’

‘Thank you, nurse.’ He passed Jane back her warrant card and then went to the closed door. He knocked lightly and then eased it open. Jane entered the room and the officer closed the door behind her.

The room was as bare as she remembered, and the blind was drawn. The bedside cabinet was covered with kidney bowls, pads and plastic cups. A draped protectivce cage had been placed over Daphne, covering her from the waist down. A glucose drip was attached to a catheter in her left arm, and there was a tube running from her bladder into a urine bag. Wires ran from her chest to a heart monitor, which bleeped steadily. She lay slightly raised on a pillow, her thinning white hair combed away from her face. Small, scabbed wounds stood out on her cheeks and forehead, and her thin arms were black with bruises and raised blue veins that tracked down to her small curled hands. She had her eyes closed, and Jane moved closer to be beside the bed. Not wanting to wake Daphne if she was sleeping, Jane gently stroked her hand. Daphne’s eyes opened.

‘Hello, Daphne. My name is Jane. I was with you at Covent Garden. I’m sorry if I’m intruding but…’ She hesitated, as there was no reaction. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘I’ve got just about everything else wrong with me, but I’m not deaf.’

Jane smiled, then drew a chair from the wall to sit closer beside her.

‘You’ve had such a dreadful time, but I’ve been told you’re really recovering very well. If you feel up to it, I would like to ask you some questions. I understand that your full name is Daphne Millbank. My name is Jane Tennison.’

Daphne turned to look at her through watery, blue eyes. ‘I remember you, dear… you saved my life. To be honest I’m not sure whether to thank you or not. You know they had to amputate my left leg? I can’t feel a thing down there sometimes, but then it aches so much it’s dreadful. It’s going to make it difficult for me to play golf. Not that I was a regular, or even that good… but I keep thinking about it. At least I’ve got my teeth back. The nurse left them in a little cardboard box. I told her I needed a bottle of peroxide as I like to let them soak overnight so they look nice and white, but I have not been given it yet. How do they look to you?’

Daphne gave a wide, open-mouthed smile.

‘Very white… they don’t look like false teeth to me.’

‘I know, my dear. Always get a good, private dentist. The NHS dentures never fit. These were made to measure and cost a fortune.’

‘Can you remember anything that happened?’

‘Not all of it… it’s very hazy. I suppose it’ll come back to me. They found my handbag, but I don’t have my reading glasses. Maybe they got broken, but I can’t read anything… Are you a nurse?’

‘No, I’m a police officer.’

‘I was a Wren in the last war… my husband was a pilot. What did you say your name was again, dear?’

‘Jane.’

Although Daphne was talking relatively coherently, she spoke slowly and with little expression. She opened and closed her eyes as if the effort wearied her.

‘Daphne, I don’t want to tire you too much but do you think you could try to answer some questions for me? If you want me to wait a while I can do that, but it is rather important and time is really against—’

‘Go ahead, dear. I was a Wren, you know, so I’m used to working under pressure. As you are here it must be important, and I was always a stickler for putting duty first.’

‘I want you to try to recall everything that happened in as much detail as you can remember from the moment you arrived at Covent Garden station… what you saw, and how it all occurred.’

Daphne lay with her eyes closed. It took a while before she slowly recounted to Jane how she had noticed the rucksack, and had seen the man walking away. She had called out to him because she thought he had forgotten it, but he didn’t take any notice. She had called a second time, but he’d walked towards the exit. Then she had seen Jane and heard her calling out to the man. Considering what she had been through, her recollection was very clear, but Jane didn’t want to take her to the moment of the explosion. She patted her hand.

‘That’s good, Daphne. Can you describe what he was wearing?’

‘Yes, a dark coat… and he had a scarf around his neck. He was a big man with longish, shoulder-length hair. He didn’t have a full beard but he was unshaven.’

‘Do you think you would recognise him?’

‘Yes, I would, most definitely… because when I called out to him he turned to face me.’

Jane was deep in thought about what to do. Crowley had said he’d send someone from bomb squad to get Daphne’s description but she wanted to know if Daphne recognised the man in the artist’s impression that had been shown at the press conference.

‘Don’t you want to know what he looked like, dear?’

Daphne’s question made up her mind. Jane rummaged in her bag and pulled out a crumpled press release showing the image of the man that Crowley had released to the press.

‘Did he look like this, Daphne?’

Daphne couldn’t lift her head so Jane had to stand close to her to show her the sketch. She pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes open and shut.

‘I need my glasses. Can you hold it a little bit further away from me?’

Jane held the sketch in front of Daphne, until she gave a small shake of her head.

‘No, no… that’s not him. The hair’s not right; he had more of a square face, thin lips, and a sort of flat nose, with bushy eyebrows. That sketch isn’t right at all.’

Jane knew that this would put a spanner in the works for Crowley. It didn’t mean that the man he suspected, in the surveillance photo, wasn’t part of the ASU, but he clearly was not the actual bomber. And this confirmed that Daphne was a more important witness than Jane, as she had seen the bomber’s full face.

‘Thank you, Daphne, you have been extremely helpful, and I’ll make sure you get some new glasses.’

Thank you, dear. I’m being well looked after. I don’t have any family, you know. My husband was a pilot, he was shot down over Dresden… never anyone else, no children…’

Jane listened as Daphne talked about her husband, until her voice became fainter, and when she fell asleep Jane quietly left the room. She headed down the ward and into the corridor, just as DS Dexter came towards her.

‘Hi, Jane, I’ve been waiting for you. How did it go with the lovely Daphne?’

‘Better than I could have hoped for. She’s an incredible lady and has excellent recall of the suspect’s face.’

As they went out of the hospital Jane told Dexter that she’d shown Daphne the artist’s sketch and how Daphne had dismissed it, giving her a detailed description of the man she saw leave the rucksack. She added that she, too, was now almost certain the man in the surveillance photo was not the man she’d seen at the station. Dexter was very attentive and smiled.

Jane was frustrated. ‘This situation has the potential to leave Crowley with egg on his face, as well as making me appear to be an unreliable witness.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, and the press will have a field day if it gets out. Listen, you did a good job with Daphne. Crowley will be pissed off, but he’s got only himself to blame. He took a gamble releasing the artist’s impression at the press conference, and so far it hasn’t paid off. I know how to handle Crowley, so let me talk to him. In fact, I’ll call him now. I can also order a car for us if you wait here…’

‘I’ve brought my own car,’ Jane replied. Dexter hesitated, slightly wrong-footed, and told her to bring the car around to the reception and he would meet her there. He waited for her to move off then made his way back to the nurse’s bay and called Crowley to update him.

‘It’s Dexter. We’ve got a spanner in the works, sir. Daphne Millbank was shown the artist’s sketch by Tennison, she said it isn’t the man she saw and now Tennison’s saying the same thing.’

‘For fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing I need. Tennison disobeyed my order.’

‘On the plus side, Tennison knows this makes her an unreliable witness. She’s not likely to publicise that. You could always raise the possibility of two men working together and…’

‘There’s has never been any reference to a second man,’ Crowley snapped.

Dexter remained calm. ‘I know that, but Daphne Milbank saw the man who left the rucksack, whereas Tennison saw a man who reacted to Daphne shouting “stop”. It’s natural to assume an accomplice would react as well…’

‘Christ, don’t complicate everything. We’ll talk about it later.’ Crowley snapped again and ended the call.

It was about fifteen minutes before Dexter walked back out of the hospital. He stood looking at Jane’s VW, shaking his head.

‘This is very subtle, Detective Tennison. Was this the only colour you could get? I mean, bright yellow? Nobody could miss you!’

Jane didn’t react as Dexter climbed into the passenger seat beside her, and jerked the seat back to accommodate his long legs.

‘What did Crowley say?’

‘What do you think? He wasn’t happy, said he’d talk about it later and slammed the phone down.’

‘Do you want me to be there as well?’

‘No, he’s mad you disobeyed him. I’ll handle it… by the way, I saw DS Stanley earlier. He said he’d upset you over a criminal records check… Pearl somebody, was it?’

‘I’m thinking of letting out a room in my flat to Pearl, but the fact is Stanley was snooping round, saw her details and checked her out…’ Jane said, still annoyed about it.

‘For what it’s worth, he was just concerned for your safety. I told you about sleepers, didn’t I?’

‘You said they’re members of the IRA who appear to be ordinary members of society until they’re needed?’ she said, concentrating on the road.

‘A sleeper for the IRA is someone whose background and demeanour enables them to go unnoticed in England, so that they can better help the IRA in their bombing campaign. When they’re needed, they’re contacted. No big drinkers, and they need to know when to keep their mouths shut and stay as anonymous as possible. Never assume anyone you come into contact with is who they say they are.’

Dexter directed Jane down back streets, from Trafalgar Square along Floral Street until they arrived at Covent Garden. The street was still cordoned off and the tube station was out of service. Police cars and vans parked were scattered outside the station entrance, with forensic officers still searching and gathering the rubble and debris left after the bomb. They had already cleared the rubble outside the station itself, as it was imperative to get it reopened and for daily life to resume.

Jane accompanied Dexter through the crime-scene barrier, and followed him into the wrecked ticket area of the station. A few officers acknowledged Dexter, who held up his ID as he guided Jane towards the top of the staircase that lead to the platform below, stepping over potholes and mounds of rubble.

‘I want you to walk me through exactly where you were positioned from the moment you came upstairs.’

Jane turned to face the ticket barriers, her back to the stairs.

‘I had just walked up from the platform. There was a woman behind me with a pushchair… she was carrying her baby and finding it difficult to manage them both. I was about halfway up when I offered to carry the pushchair. We both reached the top, and I handed back the pushchair, and she put the baby inside.’ Jane turned away from him, recalling the young mother’s face covered with a sheet in the emergency ward. She was almost in tears.

‘I saw the nurses with the baby… the poor woman died from her injuries…’

Dexter dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘Don’t go there, Jane. Let’s just keep going through your movements.’

She nodded. ‘I was holding my ID up to the ticket collector, who was standing at the far side of the entry from the stairs. It was very crowded, with passengers getting off from the Underground and climbing up the stairs, and then more passengers going down to get to the platform… so it was really thronging with people, because it was rush hour. They were just innocent people going about their daily lives…’

Dexter gripped Jane’s arm tightly. ‘Just focus on why we are here, Jane.’ He gestured for her to continue.

She moved about four steps towards the station exit, with the ticket office on her right.

‘Then I heard Daphne Millbank calling out, “You left your bag!” She was pointing to a rucksack. I followed her gaze and caught sight of a man wearing a hooded winter coat, walking away with his head down. He was moving quickly towards the station exit.

Jane paced out exactly how she had followed the man toward the exit.

‘By now I’d become concerned, so I began to run and called out “Police”, but he didn’t stop. As I got close enough to make a grab at his arm, he turned and swiped my hand away, I stumbled backwards and he ran on.’

Dexter held his hand up. ‘So, he kept on running straight ahead, no turning or crossing the road?’

‘No, he just kept running… So I went back to the ticket office to warn everyone. I was worried about the way he’d had behaved, and the rucksack he’d left behind.’

‘Walk me through what happened next,’ Dexter said gently. He could see that Jane was becoming even more tense. Together they re-entered the station. Jane explained how she’d been hemmed in with people trying to get out and others pushing their way towards the ticket barriers.

‘I saw the mother and child ahead of me, then I saw the ticket collector pick up the bag. Daphne Millbank had already started to walk out and was beside the wall when the bomb exploded. I was saved because a big man moved directly in front of me… if it wasn’t for him I would have been… Dear God, I have no idea who he was! I owe him my life, and I don’t even know if he made it. After the explosion, the thick cloud of smoke and debris made it impossible to see clearly.’

Jane recalled the screams and pandemonium as the terrified passengers tried to get out, the injured lying on the ground. She described again the whine of the bomb in her ears as she spotted the overturned pushchair, the sight of the mother shielding her child, Daphne Millbank’s missing leg…

Dexter nodded and gently patted her shoulder. ‘Just need you for a short while longer… come on outside with me.’

They left the station and Dexter held her elbow as they walked along the pavement a few yards. Up ahead there were two bomb squad detectives with a SOCO dusting a red phone box for prints. The door was propped open with a large piece of concrete that must have been blown loose by the blast.

Dexter indicated to Jane to wait, as he ducked beneath the cordon that marked off the phone box. There was a lengthy conversation between him and the officers, and Jane saw Dexter nodding and looking at the amount of fingerprint dusting that had been taken. He then walked slowly back to Jane.

‘I’ve just been told we have a witness who has described a female using this phone box at the time of the bombing. She was aged twenty to thirty, wearing a headscarf that hid her face, but she was in there for some considerable time. They’re dusting for prints but it’s doubtful they’ll be much good as it’s a public phone box, so God knows how many people have used it. But they’ve got a good high-heeled imprint and scuff marks… although, again, it’ll be a stroke of luck if it pans out.’

‘You think a woman planned this explosion?’

‘We don’t know for sure. The witness had been waiting to make a call to her husband, and there was a woman inside the phone box. She gave us a reasonable description but she never saw her face as she was wearing a very expensive headscarf… it looked like it could have been Hermès, with dogs like red setters printed on it. She said it was tied under the woman’s chin in a knot, just like the Royals wear them. I’m pretty sure the bomb was a radio-controlled device and the woman in the headscarf might have been an accomplice. She might have been attempting the coded call to the newspaper when the panic-stricken bomber pressed the button, or maybe she had the detonator… we just don’t know.’

‘Did your witness see them together?’

‘Not exactly… she was walking away from the phone box to find another one, but recalled seeing a man with the woman, running across the road shortly before the bomb exploded. It’s even possible three people were involved at the scene.’

‘Three people?’ Jane sounded surprised.

‘Sometimes they will use a lookout as well while the bomb is planted.’

Jane sighed. She had been right when she described the man having his hands free, so maybe he hadn’t been carrying the detonator? On the other hand, it could have been in his pocket…

They returned to the underground station and although all items of interest had already been removed to the Woolwich lab, she watched Dexter make a lengthy inspection of the damage. When he was satisfied, he announced he would return to the lab to see if there had been any developments.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ he suggested to Jane, checking his watch. ‘You’ve had a pretty traumatic time going over what had happened. I’ll speak to Church about Daphne and pick you up in the morning and let you know how it went.’

‘You free for dinner tonight?’ he asked.

‘I’m not, actually. I need to call this girl about moving in. But thanks for the invitation.’

‘Rain check again. You look after yourself.’ He grinned.

Jane watched Dexter stride off. She would have liked to spend more time with him but Lawrence’s warnings had made her wary of his intentions. It would better if she kept him at a distance.

It was late afternoon by the time Jane got home. The plain-clothes SPG protection officers gave her a nod as she approached her flat and let herself in. She rang Pearl and confirmed that she would like her to move in if she still wanted to.

Pearl sounded relieved as she thanked Jane. ‘I’ve been on tenterhooks all day.’

‘Just one thing I meant to ask you Pearl… do you smoke? I really don’t like the smell of cigarettes.’

‘Oh no, I don’t smoke.’

‘That’s good. So when do you want to move in?’

‘Well, a friend said he could help me move my few things, so would it be possible to come over this evening after I finish work?’

Jane hesitated. It was sooner than she had expected. ‘Who is your friend?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Eric? Oh — he’s a friend from work,’ said Pearl.

Jane felt she couldn’t ask any more questions, so said that would be fine. She hung up, and then rang in to check in with DCI Church. He was as concerned for her welfare as everyone else seemed to be, and Jane had difficulty biting back a scathing comment or two as they spoke. She tried to turn the subject away from herself by asking about Regina Hernandez, but as before, he warned her to leave the investigation to Vice.

She had just replaced the receiver when the doorbell rang. It was Pearl, so she pressed the buzzer to release the main front door. Pearl had said she only had a few belongings so Jane couldn’t believe how many cardboard boxes were being carried up the stairs by a rather scruffy-looking man with bad acne. He was heaving for breath by the time he reached the top floor. Pearl herself lugged up two heavy suitcases.

Jane took the boxes and carried them into the spare room, whilst Pearl opened the two large suitcases on the bed. Jane didn’t like to mention that they would leave scuff marks on the thick white cotton bed cover, and she put the boxes down on the floor. Pearl had thrown her coat onto the floor, and was still wearing her green beret, and a shapeless woollen dress.

‘Gosh, you’ve got rather a lot of things.’

‘Not really… those are full of my shoes and books, and Eric is bringing up the heavier ones with the TV and radio and my typewriter.’

‘I see,’ Jane said, pursing her lips. Where on earth was Pearl going to put everything in the tiny bedroom? There was only one small fitted wardrobe and a dressing table. Eric staggered to the top of the stairs again, sweating and red-faced.

‘Right, this is it… that’s everything,’ he gasped, as Pearl hurried out and handed him a pound note.

‘Thank you, Eric, you’ve been wonderful. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.’

Eric quickly pocketed the pound note and headed down the stairs to make his escape.

Jane stood in the hall, aghast at the large boxes.

‘This box is for the fridge,’ Pearl said. ‘Just some fresh salad and fruit, and then I’ve got a few tins of soups and some dishes…’

Pearl carried the box and placed it onto the kitchen counter. She then lifted the box containing the TV and staggered into the bedroom. Jane carried the next box, with the old-fashioned typewriter, which was equally heavy.

‘Er… look, I’ll leave you to unpack. Maybe we can have a cup of tea when you’re ready. Although I honestly don’t know where you’re going to put everything. I really didn’t expect you to have so much.’

‘I’ll sort it, don’t worry. I’m used to squeezing into small spaces. One of the boxes is just coat hangers, and when I’ve unpacked everything I’ll flatten all the boxes and they can be stored, or thrown out… Do you have a loft?’

Jane knew there was one in the hall, as she had seen a small rope attached to a hatch door with a plastic handle, but she hadn’t used it. She fetched a kitchen stool and climbed up to open it. It took over an hour for Pearl to empty the contents of the boxes and flatten them. She handed up the suitcases and boxes to Jane to stack in the small loft, which was thankfully empty. Pearl’s bedroom now had books stacked along the floor, with her typewriter on top of the chest of drawers. Balanced beside it was the portable TV set with an aerial on top.

Pearl breezed into the kitchen, spinning her beret around on her finger like a wheel.

‘Phew! I’m almost unloaded, but I’m gasping for a cuppa. I’ve brought my own as I usually only drink herbal tea. Where I can put all my goodies? I only eat fresh food as I am a vegetarian, and I don’t like too much tinned food as it’s full of dreadful ingredients…’

Jane opened the fridge, and Pearl began emptying her grocery box onto the shelves, taking more space than Jane had allocated. Then she stacked her vitamins, herbal teas and tins of various beans in the cupboards.

‘Would you like a sandwich?’ Jane asked, trying to remain pleasant.

‘No, thank you, I don’t eat wheat. But I would love a cup of camomile tea. Then, if it’s all right with you, I’d love to have a bath as I’m so hot and sweaty after all those boxes. Then perhaps we can sit down and sort out the rent and deposit?’

Jane closed her eyes, trying to keep calm. Already the prospect of Pearl Radcliff as a flatmate was not the perfect arrangement that she had hoped it would be.