The Savages

1

When bad things come to light about someone, it’s easy to overlook what was good about them.

For Sasha Savage, only her close friends can remember what she was really like. They could tell you everything from the name of her first crush (some carefully constructed, badly vetted boy band bassist currently serving jail time for sex with a minor), to what she told them was her guiltiest secret (the fact that she still dreamed her first time would be with him). She could laugh at herself, looked out for others, and was even ranked as ‘trustworthy’ in the last online quiz they ever took together, entitled Fake or Mate?

Before the story broke, Sasha was all set to turn sixteen with only her exams standing in the way of the best summer of her life. Then the truth emerged. Overnight, as if a spell had been cast from above, she and her family became monsters.

The investigation closed some time ago. The media feeding frenzy has moved on, while the controversial movie was just too soon, uncomfortably sensational and went straight to DVD. Despite everything, it is perhaps a measure of Sasha’s character that her friends still claim they would like to carry on where they left off. Should she ever resurface, which is considered close to unthinkable, they wouldn’t shut the door on her. Nor would they contact the Detective Inspector on the number he told them to call if there was ever a development. Not straight away, at least. They might keep their distance from her, of course, which is understandable under the circumstances. More strikingly, nobody would push her for any kind of explanation. Sasha never breathed a word to them in all those years they’d known her, so why would she offer one now? Instead, they’d try to see through the portrait that’d been painted to find the girl who had shared so much of their lives. Besides, with every last scrap of evidence out in the open, from phone records to witness statements and even the grisly report from the drainage experts, it only takes a little imagination to get under the skin of the Savage family, and come close to the truth about what really happened.

Take her mother, Angelica. She took herself into the garden the morning after Sasha overshadowed the family meal with news that she was dating. At times of stress, she always reached for her secateurs in a bid to keep a sense of control.

‘I know,’ she said, with her mobile phone propped between her shoulder and ear. Angelica paused to pinch another rose by the stem before snipping through it with the blades. ‘Titus isn’t happy at all about the situation. First she drops a grade in Spanish, and now this. A boyfriend.’

As ever, Angelica Savage looked as immaculate as her surroundings. She was an elegant woman with fine features and a dark bob tapered at the neck. A smile, which was rare, would shatter her cut-glass air, though she could be thoroughly charming where necessary. As a dinner hostess, for example, she was much admired by friends and neighbours. Her dishes were always adventurous, but cooked to perfection and served with fine wine and easy conversation. Things were different if you chose to just drop round unannounced. Then, just for a fleeting moment, Angelica would summon a look so cold it left you feeling as if you had invaded her time and space.

‘I doubt very much this little love affair will last,’ she continued. ‘From what Sasha has told us he doesn’t sound as if the young man has much backbone. I should imagine it’ll be over before the next booking.’

The moment her phone had begun to ring, Angelica knew that it would be the agency. She had set up a ring tone for that number so she could choose whether or not to answer. This depended on her mood as much as her credit card bill, which was why Angelica had reluctantly signed up some years before in a bid to pay it off. The agency specialised in hiring out domestic locations for commercial shoots. It wasn’t something she relished, but opening up the doors to their home every now and then kept her bank at bay.

For all the wrong reasons, everyone remembers the advertisement for the furniture polish. It was running when the family dominated the news. Not that it’ll ever be aired again. Even so, despite the reason it was pulled, nobody can deny that the Savages had good taste. They lived on the hill overlooking the park and the city beyond, in an elegant Georgian house with tall sashed windows and a gravel drive. The place is boarded up now. It’s destined for demolition because no buyer can be found, and a far cry from how it used to be. Were you to pay a visit before the former owners made headlines, perhaps to guess what kind of family might live there, you’d be forgiven for thinking it had been professionally styled. Everything from the careful lighting to the antique wallpaper worked perfectly together. The large and airy living room was a highlight, while the equally splendid kitchen-diner suggested a household with a passion for good food. From the table in front of the French windows, you could look out across the garden, always heady with the scent of culinary herbs, and admire the colour and life. In particular, the roses were a treat. They always bloomed like no other, even out of season, which Angelica Savage modestly linked to the home-cooked compost she used to nourish the soil.

‘Very well,’ she told Marsha from the agency, the woman who had called to check the house was available that Friday. ‘Just be sure this time the client signs the breakage clause before filming begins.’

Despite her tone, Angelica got on well with Marsha. She admired the agent’s steel grip on arrangements from start to finish. Angelica always chose not to be present during a shoot. She and any family members would take themselves upstairs for the duration and stay out of the way. It was an upheaval, but she knew they were in safe hands. By the time her husband returned from work, the crew would be gone and everything back in place as if nobody had been there at all. Even if redecoration was needed, the agency wouldn’t sign off the job until everything appeared as it had been found. Angelica couldn’t afford to let such standards slip because Titus loathed the whole arrangement. He could’ve paid off her debt straight away. That’s if he wasn’t married to such a fiercely independent woman. Just one more year, she had promised him the last time they clashed over the issue, and then the front door would be closed for good. As it turned out, Angelica was true to her word. It just wasn’t in a way that anyone could’ve believed at the time.

With roses for the table grasped in one hand, Angelica headed back inside. Titus wouldn’t be pleased about the booking, but he needed to know. Every now and then a little extra housework was required before they allowed any strangers into the home. Having arranged the roses in a vase, Angelica rang her husband. Eventually, when the call went to voice message, she figured he was busy in a meeting.

Titus Savage cursed silently when the phone in his pocket began to ring. He had meant to put it on mute, and simply forgotten. There wasn’t much he could do about it at the time. He was lying back with his hands clasped across his chest and his mouth wide open.

‘Do you want to answer that?’ asked the dental hygienist. At the same time she teased a sickle-shaped scaling instrument between his back molars, which made it impossible for Titus to reply. By the time she removed the scaler from his mouth, the hook impaled with a fine shred of meat, his mobile had stopped ringing. The hygienist appeared not to notice. Instead, she held the instrument under the lamp for inspection. Her mouth and nose were covered by a mask, but the gleam in her eyes made it clear she was elated by her catch. ‘You’re a red meat fan, Mr Savage, am I right?’

Titus plucked a tissue from the box on the steel-topped trolley beside him.

‘I eat well,’ he said, dabbing at his mouth. ‘Better than most, in fact.’

The hygienist wiped the scaler on the back of her glove. Titus eyed the shred, which had probably been there for no more than twenty-four hours, and wished he had flossed that morning. He had a meeting to attend in the next ten minutes, only now he risked having to endure a lecture.

‘Can I ask about your brushing routine, Mr Savage?

‘Trust me,’ he said, and balled the tissue in his fist. ‘I appreciate how important it is to do a thorough job.’

Titus Savage enjoyed a formidable reputation in the City. The investment company he founded many years earlier sought to assist struggling businesses by restructuring them. It was only recently, following the investigation, that the true nature of the operation became clear. Back then, had anyone accused him of ‘predatory working practices’, chances are they would’ve been sued. Titus was a familiar figure in the Square Mile, with his bald dome, penetrating blue eyes and the signature silk scarf which he folded around his neck on leaving the dental surgery. He glanced at his watch next. Satisfied that he was still in time for his meeting, Titus began to walk briskly in the direction of the office, buttoning his coat as he went.

It was a bright morning, but with so many towering buildings the sun rarely made it to ground level. Unusually, for a man of Russian stock, Titus always felt the chill. He sometimes joked that this was down to the fact he’d never visited the motherland. He certainly looked on the Slavic side, but had been born and raised in England. London was his home, and the city his stalking ground. Titus Savage knew every restaurant, coffee shop and cut-through, which at first explained why he ducked unexpectedly into a back street within yards of the office doors.

Instead of heading for a side entrance to the building, however, Titus took to the gloom under a fire escape. There, he stood with his back to the wall and explored his freshly cleaned teeth with his tongue.

Three minutes later, a man in a suit hurried off the main street. He looked nervous, as if far from his natural environment. Seeing Titus Savage step out of the shadows did little for his manner.

‘You’re late,’ said Titus. ‘And I’m busy.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The man raised his palms. Perspiration needled his forehead. He wore rounded glasses that began to steam now he had stopped. ‘This isn’t easy for me, Mr Savage. I’m toast if anyone from the firm knows I’m talking to you.’

‘Your firm is toast if you don’t talk to me.’ Titus produced an envelope from the inside pocket of his coat. He offered it to the man, and then tipped it away from his grasp when he reached for it. ‘The memory stick?’ he said, as if to remind him why they had arranged to meet.

Hurriedly, the man found the stick in his pocket and completed the exchange.

‘It’s all there,’ he assured Titus. ‘The balance sheet for the last quarter and the minutes from this week’s meeting with the bank.’

‘I hear they’re playing hardball.’

‘We’re being hammered,’ the man said. ‘On their terms, we just can’t meet the interest payment.’

‘As I predicted several months ago,’ said Titus. ‘You’ve allowed yourself to become too bloated as a business. It needs carving up if you’re going to survive.’

‘Which is why I want to help you,’ the man cut in. He looked around one more time. ‘I know in your hands the firm is finished in its current form, and I’m grateful for the cash you’ve just paid for the stick. But what I need more than anything, Titus, is a promise that I’ll still have a job once you’ve cut out all the fat. I have a family that relies on my income. Without it, we’re finished.’

Titus Savage smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder.

‘How are the kids?’ he asked.

The man seemed uncomfortable about answering the question for a moment.

‘Good,’ he said eventually. ‘Yours?’

‘The same,’ Titus answered. ‘Sasha has some issues which I plan to work on, but my boy is really beginning to shine.’

For the second time that week, Ivan Savage took a seat in the office of the school’s deputy head teacher. She sat across from him with both hands flat on the table, one on top of the other, and her mouth pressed tight. She had said nothing beyond summoning him into her office. Ivan looked up at her, well aware that she was awaiting some explanation.

‘It was meant to be funny,’ he reasoned. ‘Those girls just have no sense of humour.’

The deputy head teacher was a fair-skinned woman with shoulder-length red hair she tied back in a band. At home and weekends, when she let it fall in corkscrews, she was known as Gemma. In school, to staff and pupils, Ms Turner was not someone who thrived on having her patience tested.

‘What is funny,’ she asked eventually, ‘in finding thumb tacks in your school meal?’

The boy shrugged, like she just didn’t get it.

‘I wanted to liven up lunch break. That’s all.’

‘Ivan, you could’ve seriously harmed three of my students. There’s nothing amusing about pain and suffering. You should consider yourself very lucky that one of the dinner ladies saw what you were doing.’

Ivan sat on his hands and stared at the floor. With his skewed tie and one shirt tail hanging free, he didn’t look like a pupil capable of getting full marks in the sciences and mathematics. Still, that’s what he was achieving. So long as the subject contained logic at its core, the boy would thrive. At the same time, Ivan was seriously struggling with the arts. Ms Turner had his pupil report in front of her, in fact. It concluded that while Ivan was an enthusiastic student, his critical, creative and interpretive skills were often deemed inappropriate. Ms Turner had an example right in front of her. It was taken from a short story Ivan had written about the day in the life of an animal. While most of his classmates picked playful pets, the boy had opted to write five hundred words from the point of view of a mouse being swallowed alive by an Anaconda. The piece was capably written, but had left his English teacher so disturbed that she reported it to Ivan’s head of year.

‘Are you going to tell my dad?’ Ivan looked up. He seemed troubled at the thought. It was something Ms Turner spotted straight away.

‘What do you think might happen if I did inform your father, Ivan? What would he do?’

‘To me?’ Ivan said with some surprise. ‘Oh, nothing. I was worried about you.’

Ms Turner blinked and tipped her head to one side. She drew breath to question just what the boy had meant by that, but then thought better of it. The kid was just weird.

‘Ivan, I’ve consulted with your head of year. We’ve agreed that it would be good for you to have a session with Mrs Risbie.’

‘But she’s the school counsellor,’ complained Ivan. ‘I don’t need to see a shrink. Everyone will make fun of me and I’ll just get cross with them.’

‘Then what would happen?’ asked Ms Turner.

‘Nothing.’ Ivan shrugged and looked to the table. ‘Not straight away,’ he added under his breath.

‘The session with Mrs Risbie would be an informal arrangement,’ Ms Turner stressed. ‘A one-off.’

‘Why?’

Ms Turner closed the report in front of her.

‘School is an opportunity, Ivan. A chance for you to make the most of what we can offer in order to bring out the best in yourself. If you want any incentive, just look at what your sister has achieved.’

Two minutes after the lunch-break bell sounded, Sasha Savage had still to peel off from an intense and passionate kiss with her new boyfriend. Jack Greenway had a lot to offer. To celebrate passing his driving test, and the beginning of his new life as a sixth former, the young man’s father had gifted him a second-hand hybrid car. The vehicle ran on a combination of diesel and battery. Its low carbon emissions were in tune with Jack’s commitment to the environment. When parked behind the sixth form, it also proved to be the perfect place to make out with someone as fit as Sasha.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ murmured Jack, who took a breath before going in again.

‘I really should be going.’ Sasha placed two fingers on his lips. ‘It’s Chemistry next.’

She watched his mouth stretch into a lazy smile and then moved her fingers away.

‘This is chemistry,’ he told her, before finding her lips once more.

Nobody was surprised when Jack and Sasha started dating. If anything, it should’ve been something that happened earlier. Instead, Jack went out with a string of older girls, most of whom had now left for university, while in her year Sasha was just one of those types that tended to intimidate boys. She didn’t do so on purpose. In a way, her striking looks could work against her. Sasha was willow-tall with long, slender limbs and carried herself like a ghost in human form. You could tell she had Russian blood in her by that heart-shaped face, delicate nose and high cheekbones. Complete with the clearest blue eyes in school, she was out of this world in every way. Not that she recognised this in herself. Sasha wasn’t shy. Just cautious. Unfortunately all those lads who gave it a shot found the power of speech failed them. That is until everyone returned for the start of the new school year and Jack looked around to see what was on offer.

Unlike Sasha, Jack knew that he had been blessed with good looks. Every girl in school placed him at the top of their list. Even from behind, his broad shoulders and tight hips told you this one was worth checking out when he turned. But it wasn’t so much Jack’s dramatically shaggy cut and easy smile that charmed as much as his manner. It was something he hoped Sasha was about to discover for herself, by climbing into her orbit with such passion that anything else of importance in her life just fell away. In such a spin, her world would surely come to revolve around him. For now, however, Sasha was officially late for lessons.

‘OK. Time out. I don’t want to get into trouble.’

‘Another minute, eh?’ Jack breathed out with a faint moan and dipped down to nuzzle her throat.

‘Oh, this isn’t fair!’ Sasha protested weakly. She half closed her eyes for a moment, only to snap them wide open on feeling his teeth find her neck. ‘Er, what are you doing?’

‘Tasting you,’ he said, before drawing her skin between his lips.

‘Jack!’ This time Sasha pulled away. She pressed a hand to her neck, looking both shocked and surprised. ‘A love bite? Really?’

‘Just a little gesture.’ Jack grinned and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I’m happy for everyone to know you’re mine.’

‘What are you, like twelve years old? Nobody does love bites any more.’ Sasha examined her fingertips as if to check he hadn’t drawn blood. Then she glanced back at Jack, and grinned despite herself. ‘Promise me you’ll never do that again,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t go down well at home.’

Jack stretched an arm across the back of Sasha’s seat.

‘Relax. We’ve been dating for what? Three weeks?’

‘Four,’ said Sasha, and flipped the visor down so she could check her reflection in the mirror. She lifted her head, just to be sure Jack hadn’t left a mark, and then examined her lips. As she did so, Jack leaned across to kiss her on the cheek.

‘Then we should celebrate our one-month anniversary,’ he suggested. ‘How about I cook for you on Saturday night? My parents are away. We’d have the house to ourselves and I can do you my signature dish. A pinto bean chilli with courgettes and red pepper.’

By now, Sasha was beginning to feel deeply anxious about being late. Her Chemistry tutor would only ask her where she’d been, and everyone would know before she’d even summoned an excuse.

‘Supper sounds great,’ she said, and reached for the car door handle.

‘I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll walk round.’ Sasha grabbed her school bag and pushed open the door. ‘I have legs.’

‘It’s no problem,’ insisted Jack. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re ashamed of introducing me to the folks!’

Standing now, Sasha hoisted her bag strap onto her shoulder. ‘Had I let you get away with that love bite,’ she warned him, smiling warmly at the same time, ‘my dad would’ve eaten you alive.’

2

‘Mince. Mince!’

The baby on the kitchen floorboards gurgled happily when her mother turned to face her. At first, Angelica Savage looked unsure if she had heard her youngest child correctly. When the little one repeated the word for a third time, she shrieked with delight, set down the knife on the chopping board, and scooped her into her arms.

‘You clever girl’ she said, and spun around with her in sheer delight.

Katya was late to the family, and a surprise to her parents. With two older siblings, her father sometimes said that Kat needed a big personality as a matter of survival. She displayed this in the form of an easy smile and tendency to babble and coo as a means of communication. As Kat had yet to show any interest in climbing onto her feet, Angelica regarded this moment as a milestone in her development. Just then, on hearing the front door open, she was ready to share the news with her husband.

‘Something smells good,’ said Titus, and parked his leather satchel against the dresser. ‘I had to skip lunch today, so I’m famished.’

‘Guess what?’ Angelica stood before him, a late sun pouring in through the French windows behind her, which cast both mother and child in silhouette. ‘Go on, guess!’

After such a long day, including an afternoon spent poring over documents and spread sheets from a memory stick that shouldn’t have been in his possession, Titus was in no mood for games.

‘I give up,’ he said, as Angelica moved out of the glaring sun to soften him with a kiss. She knew Titus could be a little grumpy on his return from work, but it didn’t last long once he was back in the family fold. ‘Is it good news or bad?’ Titus asked. ‘If it’s bad, it can wait until after supper. I can’t digest bad news on an empty stomach.’

Beaming still, Angelica gestured at the child in her arms. Katya was gnawing at her fist, a mark of her latest teething troubles. Titus watched her drooling all over her little knuckles and sensed his mood lifting. She was a sweetheart, spun from sugar and wide-eyed innocence. He was looking forward to seeing her incisors come through.

‘It isn’t bad news,’ said Angelica. ‘It’s not even good news. It’s amazing news!’

‘Go on.’ Titus touched his palm to the little girl’s cheek. Katya beamed and giggled. ‘What have I missed?’

‘Listen.’ Angelica turned her attention to the child in her arms. ‘Do it again, Kitty Kat. Do it for Daddy.’

Katya continued to suck at her fingers. It meant when she made a noise it was muffled. Gently, Angelica removed her fingers from her mouth.

‘Mince!’

Angelica switched her attention back to Titus, who stood rapt.

‘Kat’s first word!’ she declared.

‘Mince! Mince!’

‘Mince?’ Slowly, a smile eased across his face. ‘Oh, Kat, that’s beautiful! What a proud moment this is!’

Sharing in his delight, Angelica handed their child across. Titus squeezed her to his chest and then raised the chuckling toddler over his head.

‘Mince!’

‘I’m not even cooking mince,’ said Angelica.

‘Maybe it’s her favourite.’ Titus returned the child to the floor, where several toys lay waiting for her. ‘So, what’s for supper?’

‘Leftovers,’ she said. ‘Nothing special, I’m afraid.’

For a moment, Titus appeared disappointed. Still, he managed a smile for his wife. He understood that nothing could go to waste, even if it lacked the taste and intensity from the first time round.

‘In your hands,’ he said anyway, ‘I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Now, what’s everyone else doing?’

‘Ivan and Grandpa are in their rooms.’ Angelica returned to the hob before she finished. ‘We’re expecting Sasha any time now.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Oh, just out,’ she said, with her back to Titus. ‘I’m not sure where.’

Titus considered this news in silence. Out without knowing where didn’t sound good in his books. Yes, Sasha was a growing girl, but somehow it was all just going a bit too fast for his liking. He didn’t want to keep her under lock and key. Far from it. But if she was out there taking risks, he wanted to make sure she kept those risks to a minimum, or even eradicated them completely. He had been raised to believe in this approach to life, and that’s what he strived to pass on to the next generation.

‘Sasha really needs to let us know where she’s going,’ he grumbled. ‘Have you texted her?’

Angelica faced her husband.

‘She promised to be home in time for supper,’ she said, with some tension in her voice. ‘We have to give her a chance.’

Titus held her gaze for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged. He returned his attention to his youngest daughter, who was shuffling across the floorboards. Slowly, his expression brightened.

‘You know it won’t be long before Katya eats with us. She’s shaping up to be quite the Savage.’

Angelica smiled adoringly.

‘All in good time,’ she said. ‘Let the last of her teeth come through first.’

Titus nodded to himself and then lifted his daughter into his arms.

‘Well, let’s hope that day comes soon. It’ll be such an honour to have all my family around the table!’

Ninety minutes later, with the baby monitor beside the toaster indicating that Katya was asleep in her cot, Sasha returned home to find herself late for supper.

‘Hi,’ she said breezily, well aware that her dad had that face on him again. There he was with one elbow on the table, gazing across at her with the fork poised like a spear fisherman.

‘Dinner is in the wok,’ he told her. ‘Your mother had it ready some time ago.’

Angelica had served up a stir fry from the remains of yesterday’s meal. Ivan was close to finishing. He made a lot of noise sucking in the last noodles before picking up the bowl to drink down the broth. It was only when he set it back on the table that he found everyone looking at him.

‘Oh, Ivan,’ said Angelica. ‘How many times?’

At first, it looked as if Titus would also turn his displeasure on his son. Instead, leaving the boy with a stern look, Ivan waited for Sasha to take her place at the table. She was hungry, having skipped lunch to spend time with Jack, and had heaped her bowl with food. Any hope she might have had about getting away without being questioned stopped at her first mouthful.

‘So.’ Titus paused and cleared his throat. ‘Been on a date?’

Sasha traded glances between her parents, chewing at the same time.

‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I was at a friend’s house finishing a project for school.’

Titus didn’t look as if he believed a word she’d just said. Even though it was the truth, he continued to look at her as if awaiting a confession. Sensing an atmosphere thicken, it was Angelica who changed the subject.

‘Marsha called this morning,’ she announced. ‘We have a booking for the weekend.’

Her news was met with a brief silence.

‘What’s wrong with the week?’ asked Titus, and scraped his fork around the bowl. ‘When I’m out at work.’

‘It’s a magazine shoot paying double rate.’ Angelica bristled in her seat. ‘And they’ll be here until late on Saturday.

It was Ivan who groaned, though his dad pulled the very same face.

‘That means we’ll be stuck upstairs all day!’ the boy protested. ‘It’s so boring with people in the house!’

‘Why don’t you spend time with friends?’ asked Sasha quietly, and then smiled to herself because that wasn’t an option for her kid brother. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, as if to answer her own question. ‘You don’t have any.’

Titus balled his napkin and deposited it in his bowl. Then he drew Angelica’s attention to the kitchen surfaces.

‘After last night’s feast we’re going to have to work very hard to get this place ready,’ he told her. ‘I wish you’d run this past me first.’

Angelica listened to each complaint in turn looking increasingly tense.

‘Actually, I’ll be out that evening,’ said Sasha. ‘You should all do the same thing.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Titus. ‘Shouldn’t you check with us first?’

Even though Sasha expected this kind of response from her father, it didn’t stop her feeling a little suffocated.

‘OK, well, I am going on a date, actually. Jack is cooking.’

‘A veggie meal?’ Ivan sneered at her sister. ‘That’s not a date. It’s just disappointing.’

Sitting opposite her brother, Sasha just stared at her brother as if to offer him a chance to face his own reflection in her eyes.

‘Don’t you have a chess game waiting?’ she asked. ‘Those pawns won’t move themselves.’

‘Well, I think it’s a lovely gesture!’ Angelica attempted to sound bright in a bid to support her daughter. ‘Though you should make sure you eat properly at lunchtime just in case.’

‘Now hold on!’ Titus raised a hand to command their attention. ‘Sasha, we really ought to meet this young man. It’s called responsible parenting. We can’t have our daughter going off with just anyone. We need to know he has your best interests at heart. Until then, I’m going to have to say no to an evening out.’

‘Dad!’ Sasha pushed back her chair to stand, which made an unpleasant scraping noise across the tiles. ‘You’re being so unreasonable about this. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.’

‘Sit down and eat,’ said Titus.

‘I’m not hungry any more,’ Sasha told him. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

Angelica gestured for her to leave the room. Under the circumstances, it was better that both father and daughter cooled off at that moment.

‘We’ll discuss this later!’ Titus called after her, raising his voice this time.

‘There’s nothing more to say.’ Sasha left him with a withering look, and then closed the door behind her.

‘Now just a minute, young lady! No daughter of mine has the last word in this house!’

A moment later, under the gaze of his wife and son, Titus Savage paid the price for disturbing the peace when the baby monitor popped and crackled.

‘Mince!’

3

Oleg Fedor Savadski, a former officer in the Russian Red Army, took a pinch of fish food and sprinkled it into the bowl. This was how Sasha found him when she reached his open door.

‘Hey, Grandpa. What’s happening?’

‘Do you know what goldfish thrive on more than anything else?’ he asked, peering through the glass as the two inhabitants rose to nibble at the flakes.

‘Is it their short-term memory?’ Sasha closed the door behind her. ‘I should imagine forgetting your past and starting afresh must be quite appealing sometimes.’

Oleg glanced at his granddaughter for a moment, before returning his attention to the bowl.

‘The answer is fish meal and fish oil,’ he told her, and turned to show her the tub in his hand. ‘It’s central to their diet. Feasting on their own kind is what brings out the very best in them. Yes, you can offer them a vegetable substitute but they quickly lose their zest, and I only want the best for my babies.’

Oleg, known simply to his family as Grandpa, was exactly one year away from celebrating a century in this world. Like his son, Titus, he sported a bald dome and thick eyebrows. His long grey beard was the most striking aspect of a man who had shrunken and withered over the years. It made him appear immensely wise, like someone who had produced several tomes of epic Russian novels. It was a look that fell away when food became trapped in the strands, however. Then he would appear more like the kind of lost soul you might find shouting at bins in a back alley. Since the last of his teeth had lost their moorings, Grandpa preferred his food in liquidised form. Whatever was on the menu, Angelica just passed it through the blender and he would literally lap it up. Like the rest of the family, Grandpa had enjoyed a stir fry made up of the leftovers from the day before. His bowl sat on a tray at the table under the skylight, along with the straw he had used to ingest it.

‘I can take that down for you,’ said Sasha, who had noticed the bowl.

‘It can wait,’ Grandpa told her. ‘You’re welcome to stay here for a while. I heard all the shouting downstairs just now.’

Grandpa occupied the loft space in the family home. It had been converted into simple, clean and bright quarters by Titus when he came to live with them following the passing of his wife. Both Sasha and Ivan had grown up sharing the house with him. Not that he left his room very often. Still, his door was always open for anyone who wished to spend time with him. Sasha considered herself lucky. Oleg wasn’t the kind of grandfather who would sit there with one hand cupped to his ear and mumble incomprehensibly. Above all, he liked to listen as much as talk, which is why Sasha had headed upstairs having fallen out with her father.

‘Why does he have to be so controlling?’ she asked, taking the chair where Grandpa had just finished his stir fry smoothie. ‘Sometimes it feels as if he’d like me to be fitted with an off switch when I don’t live up to his expectations.’

‘Is this about Jack?’ he asked, and placed the tub beside the fish bowl. ‘I’ve heard all about him from Ivan.’

Sasha rolled her eyes.

‘So, you know he’s a vegetarian.’

Grandpa shuffled across the room. He peered through the skylight. There were no windows in his attic space. Just several points that offered him a clear view of the heavens above, as well as pictures on the wall of family and places from his past.

‘There are worse things in this world,’ he said. ‘And your father is only being protective.’

‘Has he always been like this?’ asked Sasha, as Grandpa took a seat opposite her. He nodded and regarded his granddaughter.

‘Since he was a little boy. But you have to understand why family is so important to him. He knows his roots, Sasha. I come from nothing. Nechevo. When I arrived in this country with your grandmother, we had only the rags on our backs. We’d been through hell to get here. The experience changed us both as human beings, and left him with a very strong sense that to survive this life no matter what, you stick together. It’s what we did,’ he said to finish, and looked at the table. ‘During the Siege.’

Sasha had no need to press her grandfather for an explanation. It wasn’t because she feared it would lead to an hour-long look back through several chapters of history. The first time he had accounted for his experience during World War Two, she and Ivan had sat throughout and barely breathed. Once he’d finished, it became clear to both grandchildren that what he had just shared could never be repeated outside the house. It was only later, during the course of the investigation, that Oleg’s background became central to the Savage saga.

Without doubt, Grandpa’s wartime experience went some way towards understanding what shaped them as a family. For Oleg Fedor Savadski endured unimaginable hardship and misery, alongside the citizens in Leningrad, when the city was surrounded and cut off from the world by enemy forces. For more than two years, including cruel, harsh and bitter winters, nobody could get out and nearly all supply routes were blocked. With no food available, the people suffered terribly. Up to one and a half million starved to death. Those who lived through it were forced to test the limits of resourcefulness. As the famine grew, people foraged for berries in parkland before going on to hunt birds and rats. Then, with the wildlife consumed, the desperate turned to boiling down belt straps into soup and licking the paste from the back of wallpaper. Oleg was among that number. Stationed in his home city, with a new bride to protect, he pledged to do whatever it took to endure the growing horror.

The city had come under an onslaught. Buildings lay in ruins and bodies sprawled in the streets. As the weeks turned to months, people grew familiar with death. It became a part of everyday life, and for some a means of survival.

At first, the surviving citizens of Leningrad believed that street dogs must be coming out at night to strip some corpses of organs and flesh. An alternative explanation was unthinkable, despite the fact that such dogs had already become food for the table. When word began to spread that gangs were roaming the city, picking off victims to ease their appalling hunger, fear and panic set in. At such an inhumane time, could some desperate souls really be driven to turn on each other? Towards the end of the Siege, the police even set up a special unit to investigate the claims. Oleg was among a small band of soldiers appointed as an army escort to accompany the unit. Unlike so many others, he was in relatively good shape and strong enough to help ensure their safety across the more forbidding quarters of the stricken city. According to reports, just as the investigation began to find substance to the awful rumours, so news filtered through that most had lost all hope of hearing. Thanks to advances by the Allies, the enemy had been forced to pull back from their positions. At last, a blockade that had lasted almost nine hundred days, and turned the city into a living hell, was over. Exhausted but overjoyed, the citizens were free to leave. Oleg and his wife were among that number. In fact, they chose to get out at the earliest opportunity, before the police unit’s investigation was complete, and even departed the country just as soon as the war came to an end.

Some years after they arrived in England, with Oleg working quietly as a porter at Smithfield Meat Market, a son was born to the couple. By then, Oleg had changed the family surname to Savage. It sounded more comfortable to an English-speaking ear, and created some distance from their former life. Still, Oleg never forgot his origins. In particular, he and his wife continued to pursue the taste they had acquired during the Siege, and even passed it on to their young son. The food was carefully sourced, of course, and then effectively spirited away to be prepared for the table. With access to herbs, spices and other ingredients, and in the privacy of their kitchen, the couple embarked upon a culinary adventure like no other. They were careful not to overindulge, of course, by turning it into a rare and occasional treat. As a growing boy, it was something Titus came to relish. No other meal came close to stirring such a deep-seated craving in him. Like his parents, the lad found that every mouthful left him feeling blissfully alive. By the time Oleg decided to reveal the main ingredient, there was no going back for his son.

‘It feeds the heart and soul,’ was how Titus would go on to sell it to Angelica. This was two decades later, shortly before their engagement, after the couple had spent many date nights at his flat simply eating in. ‘You feel it in your bones and in your blood,’ he went on, before tapping the side of his head. ‘Most of all, you feel it in your mind. Am I right?’

Angelica had also reacted with some questions, of course, once she’d come round from her faint and stopped screaming. Yes, it was a shock for her to learn what he had been serving her all this time. It was only human nature, after all. By then, however, Angelica had come to crave the sense of sheer satisfaction delivered by such a feast. Bonded by a shared secret, and deeply in love with this food pioneer, it seemed there was only one thing she could say when Titus dropped down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. From that moment on, as the couple set out to build a family, it was clear to Titus that the Savages were a breed apart when it came to good taste. No matter what challenges they faced, he swore to his new bride and then later to Sasha and Ivan, that’s exactly how it would stay.

‘But Daddy, eating people is wrong.’

It was Sasha who had spoken up. Barely five years old at the time, she sat at the table with her feet swinging under the chair while her father explained where they had obtained the meat on their plates.

‘Honey,’ he had said with a sigh. ‘People are in plentiful supply. Most free range for much of their lives, and enjoy a happy existence. We don’t just eat anyone!’

Unlike his sister, Ivan responded to the revelation by asking for second helpings. He seemed completely unconcerned, which Titus put down to his tender age. The boy had only just turned three at the time, after all. As for Sasha, once she’d got down from the table she simply headed off to play with her doll’s house. Titus wasn’t worried, despite her protest. He knew from experience that once someone had tasted the ultimate in flesh, it became a part of who they were.

‘So,’ said Sasha, in a bid to rouse her grandfather from his thoughts. ‘What am I going to do about Dad? I’m dating someone who chooses not to eat dead animal products. That doesn’t put him in the same category as a drug addict.’

Oleg blinked as if in surprise at her presence in the room, and then squeezed his beard with one hand.

‘Oh, my son is all bark and no bite,’ he assured her. ‘I’m sure if he meets this young man then his fears will ease. Why not invite him round?’

Sasha sighed to herself.

‘Why does everyone in this family want to meet Jack?’ she asked.

‘Because everyone cares for you,’ he said. ‘We Savages look out for each other. If we didn’t, God alone knows what would happen to us.’

4

The signature at the foot of the letter was convincing. Ivan had been practising for some time. So, when the boy handed the letter across to Mrs Risbie, the school counsellor, he was confident she would believe the session that was about to take place had parental consent. In Ivan’s view, it was in both their interests that his father wasn’t involved.

‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked.

They were sitting across from one another on cheap and worn sofas. Mrs Risbie wore her fringe like a badly closed pair of curtains. She curled one side behind her ear, which proved unsuccessful when she reached for a cup of tea on the low table between them. Ivan ignored the glass of weak squash that she had made for him.

‘I feel fine,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

As a psychologist working part time in a school environment, Mrs Risbie did her level best to make her room look as informal as possible. She made no notes, preferring to maintain eye contact with anyone who came to see her.

‘Actually, I thought we’d start with an exercise,’ she said. ‘Would you like to do an exercise, Ivan?’

‘Do you want to do an exercise?’ he asked.

‘I’d like that.’ Mrs Risbie had already stashed the pack of square picture cards down the side of the sofa in readiness for the moment. She plucked out the pack and quickly thumbed through to find one to begin. ‘It’s very simple,’ she said, and selected a card to show the boy. ‘Each picture features the face of a child. I want you to look at them in turn and tell me what her expression says about how she’s feeling.’

‘Is that it?’ asked Ivan, who was already beginning to sound bored. ‘Well, seeing that she’s smiling in that one I’d say she’s happy.’

‘Very good.’ Mrs Risbie brought the next card to the front.

‘Perplexed,’ he said after a moment.

‘Excellent!’

Ivan studied the next card, and then sat back in his seat. ‘Thoughtful. Reflective, perhaps?’

Mrs Risbie smiled and nodded. The kid didn’t seem to have an issue relating to other people. Given his vocabulary, it was simply revealing a higher than average intelligence.

‘How about this one?’ she asked, and flipped around the picture of the girl with the sad face. It showed her looking down, with tear-stained cheeks and her lower lip jutting.

Ivan sat forward again. He studied the picture for a while, tipping his head one way and then the other.

‘It’s a tough one,’ he said, before looking back at Mrs Risbie again. ‘She looks like someone who can’t take a joke.’

‘Right.’ At times like this, Mrs Risbie wished she could put the pupil on pause while she rushed to write down some observations. Instead, she nodded sagely and placed the cards flat on the table. ‘Ivan, has there ever been a time when you’ve felt sad?’

The boy sat on his hands while he thought about this. He looked to the floor, pressing his lips together. Mrs Risbie couldn’t help noticing how focused he seemed. Just waiting for him to answer left her feeling tense.

‘When people don’t understand me,’ he said eventually, and looked directly into her eyes. ‘That’s when I feel angry… sorry, I mean sad.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Risbie shifted in position. Ivan wasn’t unpleasant company. He was polite. He listened. He considered every question. Even so, there was something about him she found unsettling, though she reminded herself not to entertain such unprofessional thoughts.

‘How is home life?’ she asked next, hoping to build a bigger picture. ‘Tell me about your family.’

This time, Ivan didn’t hesitate in his answer. Much to the surprise of Mrs Risbie, he sat back in his seat and provided a full and detailed description of a seemingly content, stable and supportive domestic environment. By the time he had finished, stopped by the lunch-break bell, she had drawn her own conclusions. Often kids from damaged backgrounds felt the need to protect their parents by making out that everything was fine. Ivan didn’t seem to fit into this category. It really hadn’t sounded forced or tailored, as if he had just told her what she wanted to hear. Nor were there any holes or inconsistencies in the picture he had painted. Instead, the boy had spoken in detail about each family member with heartfelt love and admiration. That had extended to Ivan’s grandfather and siblings, and though it was clear that he and Sasha liked to wind each other up, it was her considered opinion that he came from a very close unit indeed.

‘Can I go now?’ he asked, having stopped abruptly when the bell rang for break time. Mrs Risbie was surprised that Ivan didn’t want to continue, given how enthusiastically he had just been talking about their best ever holiday.

‘Well, I was enjoying your account of the safari,’ she said, keen for him to continue. ‘Looking out for all those wildebeest must’ve been fun. Animal conservation is an admirable cause.’

Ivan looked confused for a moment, as if perhaps she had misunderstood something, but nodded all the same.

‘I really should go,’ he said, and gathered his schoolbag from the floor. ‘Do I need to come back again?’

Mrs Risbie considered this for a moment. There was nothing in Ivan’s life that needed unpicking, she decided. Yes, he had some difficulties empathising with people, especially those in need of help or sympathy, but that clearly didn’t apply when it came to his life at home. The kid was just a little odd. That didn’t make him a bad apple.

‘Shall we see how you get on?’ she suggested as Ivan Savage rose to leave. ‘My door is always open to you.’

Just seconds after leaving the school counsellor’s office, Ivan had completely forgotten about his conversation with Mrs Risbie. He’d even switched off the light on his way out, despite the fact that she was still on the sofa behind him. Swinging his bag from one shoulder to the other, he made his way along the corridor with just one thing in mind. After the reception his last practical joke had earned him, the boy had something new up his sleeve. He’d ordered the device online and made some small adjustments to the way it worked. What he planned now was a public performance before class that would be sure to make him the centre of attention.

As he headed for the classroom, Ivan spotted his sister approaching. The pair made eye contact, which was about as friendly as they could be at school. It was only as he passed that Sasha glanced over her shoulder with some concern.

‘What’s he up to?’ she muttered to her friends. ‘I know that look.’

By the time the bell rang again, Ivan was waiting for his classmates to file in. They found him standing at the teacher’s desk, as if preparing to take the lesson. With his schoolbag open at his feet, he was holding an object in his hands that some of them had seen at magic shows.

‘It’s a finger guillotine,’ he announced, as people took to their seats. ‘With a difference.’

‘Here we go,’ whispered one girl to her friend.

Nobody thought that Ivan was dangerous. They just considered him to be a bit different. He wasn’t a popular boy, but nor did he easily attract enemies. If anything, most people just kept a little distance from him. On this occasion, however, Ivan had a captive audience. When no pupil accepted his invitation to volunteer, he shrugged and announced that he would perform the stunt himself.

‘Now, this could be bloody,’ he said, ignoring the groans and the sound of exercise books being opened in readiness for the teacher. Ivan was disappointed to see that only a few of his classmates were paying any attention at all. Most were pretending not to notice. With the guillotine placed on the desk, he stood behind it and slipped his index finger through the hole. ‘Observe closely,’ he announced, and raised the handle that lifted the blade. With one final glance at the class, where he was pleased to see a few more eyes on him, he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared to slam down the blade. He held his breath, counted to three in his mind, and then opened his eyes with a start when a voice commanded him to stop what he was doing right away.

‘Ivan, this is no time for tricks!’ his teacher barked, a man with a mouth that everyone said looked too large for his face. ‘Sit down right away!’

The boy glanced across at the rest of the class. Now everyone was looking at him.

‘But it isn’t a trick,’ he grumbled, and reluctantly withdrew his finger from the guillotine.

The device was to make a second appearance later that day, at the back of the school bus home. According to those who witnessed the episode, Ivan was asked to move from his seat. It wasn’t a threat, by all accounts. It’s just that’s where the Year 10 boys liked to gather. Most kids in Year 7 would’ve moved without question. Instead, Ivan showed some reluctance, and that’s when things turned nasty.

‘Am I going to have to make you move?’ growled a redheaded boy called Thomas, who had come to accept being called Ginger Tom by everyone including his teachers.

‘You can try,’ said Ivan, matter-of-factly, ‘but you’ll regret it.’

Ginger Tom looked back at his mates. He wasn’t a bad lad at all. It’s just he’d got himself into a position where he couldn’t back down. Turning back to Ivan, he saw a way that might persuade the boy to shift that didn’t involve physical force.

‘Let me help you.’ Snatching Ivan’s bag, before he could be stopped, Tom opened it up and peered inside. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, on spotting the little guillotine in among the school books.

‘Don’t play with that!’ Ivan lunged at it, but Ginger Tom was too quick for him. He jerked it away and then held it aloft, grinning.

‘There’s only one magic trick you need to perform,’ he said. ‘And that’s a disappearing act. Now give me the seat and you can have it back.’

Ivan held his gaze for a moment.

‘It isn’t a magic trick,’ he said.

‘Oh right,’ said Ginger Tom. ‘It’s for real, is it?

‘Yep.’

By now, Ginger Tom’s mates were pressing around him for a closer look.

‘Stick your finger in it,’ someone suggested. ‘Give it a go, Tom.’

Grinning, Tom rested the guillotine on top of the seat rest in front of Ivan and inserted a digit.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Ivan, who watched with interest nonetheless.

‘Or what? You’ll look like a liar?’

Returning his attention to the guillotine, Tom lifted the blade. A phone camera appeared over his shoulder, fired up to film the event.

‘Do it, Ginger Tom. Do it!’

He glanced at Ivan one more time, but didn’t look so gleeful any more. Tom’s attention moved back to the guillotine, with calls of encouragement still filling in his ears. One last look at the Savage boy was enough to change his mind. It was the gleam in his eye, coupled with the faint trace of a smile, that told Ginger Tom this wasn’t a good idea at all. Snatching his finger from the guillotine, much to the disappointment of the crowd, he quickly reached inside his school jacket and produced a pencil. Without a word, he jabbed it into the slot and slammed the handle down.

The blade cut through the pencil as if it was made from butter. In the brief moment it took for the sharp end to drop to the floor of the bus, every single witness had fallen silent.

5

When his face went on to make the newspapers, Vernon English didn’t seem like the kind of person a company would hire as a private investigator. With his soft leather cap, worn at an angle, his flattened nose and stubbly, hangdog chops, he looked more like a boxing trainer ready to throw in the towel.

‘Could passengers move along the aisle, please? We can’t close the doors if people are pressing against them.’

Vernon was cheap, however, which made him attractive to a struggling organisation at the mercy of a hostile takeover. Just then, the man responsible for moving in on the company was travelling to work by tube. Vernon could just about see him across the crowded carriage. When the company’s boss had first called Vernon’s office, which wasn’t an office at all but the mobile phone in his pocket, the man sounded desperate. Titus Savage is set to pounce on us, is what he told the private investigator. Everyone knows he’s unconventional in the way he does business. We need to prove he’s actually breaking laws if we stand any chance of survival. Get the dirt, Mr English. Do whatever it takes so we can persuade the man to prey elsewhere.

‘The gentleman in the cap and quilted bodywarmer. Will you please find some space or step off and wait for the next train. There’s one right behind.’

It took a moment for Vernon to realise that the conductor on the Tannoy was addressing him directly. He glanced around. Everyone was looking in his direction. Much to their annoyance, he used his considerable weight to push himself further into the carriage.

‘Sorry,’ he grumbled, as the doors finally closed. ‘Sorry, is that your foot?’

There was no way that Vernon was going to lose sight of Titus Savage. He’d been on the case for just a short time, but already there had been a suspect exchange in a back alley. Vernon had noted it all from his favourite observation post, which was on a high stool facing out of a coffee shop with a grande latte in one hand and crumbs from an almond croissant all down his front. Now he had chosen to follow Savage home. It was important that he built a complete picture of the man, not just at work but also at play. As the tube pulled away, Vernon reached up from the throng to grab the rail. Beside him, level with his armpit, a young woman closed her eyes, crinkled her nose and evidently tried to picture herself in her special place. Vernon pretended not to notice her. He did the very same with the bald man in the silk scarf further down the carriage. Titus was standing over a couple in matching anoraks who were consulting a map of London. He too was holding onto the rail, and seemed totally lost in thought. The private investigator paid him no more than a cursory glance. Titus lived some way out from the city, and would be travelling eight more stops. Until then, Vernon assured himself, while gazing at an advert for laxatives, his target wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a point just behind the ear that Titus considered a guilty pleasure. Towards the end of a warm day, it was possible to detect a slight but telling odour. This was down to a sweat produced by the eccrine gland. The fold in the skin behind the lobe interested Titus because it formed a trap where a particularly oily film of the stuff would mature. Even though the smell was undetectable to most people, it revealed a great deal to experienced nostrils.

Leaning over the couple with the map, Titus breathed in and savoured the intermingling odour of two specimens. Like a wine connoisseur, he was able to break down the components and make a quality assessment. In this case, the couple were in good health, well exercised and enjoyed a balanced diet. In terms of appeal, however, they were both a little too mature for his liking. What put Titus off completely was the top note of trimethylamine he detected. This natural chemical was released in times of stress, and could make the flesh a little fishy. Given that these guys were clearly tourists in a strange city and quite possibly a long way from home, it was no surprise that they were feeling tense. As the tube train pulled into the next station, the pair appeared to be torn as to whether or not they should get off. They looked at one another, and then back at the map, before bickering in their mother tongue.

Titus stood back and smiled to himself. It was an amusing exercise. Something he often enjoyed during rush hour to make the journey go that bit quicker. The Savages didn’t just go around slaying people day after day to feed their appetite for human flesh. It was a delicacy. A treat they enjoyed on an occasional basis. Sometimes they would prepare a feast to mark a special moment in their lives. At other times, consuming someone would be necessary because they had come too close to the truth for comfort.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ the male tourist said in broken English, and turned to face him. ‘Which way to the Palace?’

As visitors to this country, the couple would’ve been mightily impressed by the time and courtesy Titus went on to display. He showed them their destination on the map, explained that they were travelling in the wrong direction, and then stood at the open door and pointed out the correct platform. As the couple stepped off, thanking him profusely, Titus bowed his head and wished them a good day. At the same time, in the furthest recess of his mind, he was debating whether salt curing might draw out the stress taint, particularly from a nice cut like the thigh or ribcage. If that worked out, he thought to himself, it could just leave the meat ripe for a mouth-wateringly tender, slow-cooked Stroganov.

Titus was just calculating the likely oven time when a young man rushed between the closing doors of the train. It was a dramatic entry and Titus was alone in ignoring it. He continued to enjoy preparing the imaginary dish, gazing at the roof panelling as the tube pulled off once more. Then, as a distinctive smell reached his senses, he lowered his gaze and blinked just once. The young man across from him was wearing a suit, open at the throat. He was eating a cheeseburger, which was what now commanded the attention of the bald man opposite. Titus watched him take a bite, and then another in a desperate bid to stop the ketchup from slopping on his shoes. Judging by his outfit, and sharp, angular haircut, he was either an estate agent on an early rung of the career ladder, or in direct sales of some description. Either way, he wasn’t much older than Sasha, and looked both ambitious and hungry to make his mark on the world.

What was his daughter doing, he thought to himself, going out with a vegetarian? Those vitamin-deficient pantywaists really couldn’t be trusted. It just wasn’t right, in his view. It went against man’s early instincts as a hunter. OK, so someone had to stay back and tend to the potatoes and the cress or whatever, but Titus doubted very much that anyone who was fit and strong enough to stalk elk and bison would volunteer. Meat dodgers just made him nervous. That was all. Watching the young man cram the last of the cheeseburger into his mouth, Titus hoped that Sasha would see sense soon. Even if this new boy in her life had a good soul, he’d still lack heart and guts. Ultimately, she could do so much better than that.

Titus had just decided that he would help his daughter reach this conclusion sooner rather than later when the tube pulled into the next stop. Having licked the grease from his fingers, the young man turned for the doors and waited for them to open. With several more stops before he reached home, Titus sighed to himself and looked around. Quite a few passengers remained on the carriage. A couple more suits, both too depressed for his liking, a man in his sixties in full jogging gear and some bulky guy in a jazz hat and sleeveless body warmer. Titus was just wondering to himself whether the hat was leather or synthetic when the guy glanced around and caught his eye. In a blink, he pulled the peak of his cap low, switched his attention to the floor and then did his level best not to look back. Titus smiled to himself, and wondered what his dear wife had prepared for supper.

6

Angelica Savage wasn’t just a unique cook. Nor was she simply an accomplished homemaker. One look at her credit card statements revealed that she was also a formidable shopper. She kept them in a shoebox at the back of her walk-in wardrobe, which also contained the reason why she had racked up so much debt.

When it came to fashion, Angelica was bleeding edge. Her style was simple and elegant, but it came at a sky-high price. She would shop in boutiques where the staff dropped everything knowing what she could spend. Sometimes she went directly to the internationally admired dress designer, Gerado Figari. It was an association that would later come close to ruining the man’s reputation, of course. Back then, whenever his mobile rang and her name appeared on the screen, he would always be quick to pick up. His dresses from across the seasons hung from every rail in Angelica’s wardrobe, alongside more casual clothes for the home that still cost a small fortune. It would be easy to look back and link her need for shopping to the family’s hidden secret. Certainly many criminal psychologists have stepped forward to say that her consumer habit on the high street served as some kind of escape for the woman. A chance to momentarily forget about the horror that took place inside the house. This, they argued, explained how she managed to spend way beyond her means, and took to hiding the true nature of her debt from the rest of the family.

‘Is this the bathroom?’

The voice took Angelica by surprise. With a gasp, she hurried to replace the lid on the shoebox. Then she twisted around to see Grandpa standing behind her. He was wearing a vest and drawstring trousers. For one horrible moment, it looked as if he was about to unbutton himself.

‘No it isn’t,’ she said, rising to her feet. She sounded cornered, perplexed and a little cross. ‘It’s my wardrobe, Oleg. The bathroom is across the hall. You know that, don’t you?’

Grandpa looked even more bemused than Angelica. He took a moment to consider what she’d said, before his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

‘Oh, of course! So it is. I’m sorry.’

As he spoke, Angelica’s expression shifted from surprise to concern. For decades, Oleg had shown no sign that age was getting the better of him. His wrinkles may have deepened, but this was the first occasion that his mind had let him down. Seeing him like this, as she recovered her composure, just served to make her aware that he wasn’t going to live forever. It didn’t matter how often Titus joked that Oleg’s diet made him immortal, one day nature would take her course. However you conducted yourself through life, whatever path you chose, everyone died in time.

‘You’ve had a senior moment,’ she told him gently, before encouraging him to turn and leave the bedroom.

‘Have I?’ Oleg looked like he had completely forgotten what just happened. Angelica placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She could feel his bones and joints at work, as fragile as if fashioned from balsa wood. At the same time, she hoped he wouldn’t go wandering downstairs on Saturday in a similar state of undress.

‘We have another shoot at the weekend,’ she told him. ‘It’s important that we stay out of sight and let them do their job.’

‘So the kids told me,’ he said. ‘But I would’ve figured it out for myself on account of all the cleaning you’ve been doing.’

Angelica smiled to herself. It was good to know that Oleg was a long way from living in a complete fog of bemusement. The fact was she had spent much of the day making sure the house was prepared. She had scrubbed and disinfected, dusted and polished and vacuumed every last inch.

‘It has to be done,’ she said, as he followed her out onto the landing. ‘Titus insists.’

‘You should just let him pay off your credit card,’ said Oleg.

And reveal just how much debt I’m in? Angelica thought to herself. He’d slay me.

‘Titus has his own concerns,’ she said instead, and directed OIeg to the bathroom in case he had forgotten.

‘Titus should relax about Sasha,’ he said. ‘At the moment he’s just driving her into the arms of this boy.’

Oleg stopped and looked around at his daughter-in-law. Angelica had been referring to the fact that Titus was preoccupied with work. Even so, Oleg had a point. The last time Titus tried to address the situation with his eldest daughter, Sasha had left the table early.

‘Did she tell you that he’s invited her over for supper?’ she said. ‘A vegetarian meal.’

‘So, it’ll give her wind all evening. Is that the worst thing that can happen? Let the girl learn from the experience.’

Grandpa shuffled into the bathroom. As he turned to close the door, he found Angelica looking at him thoughtfully.

‘Titus is just scared that his little girl is growing up.’ She gestured at the window overlooking the park and the city beyond. ‘It’s a big bad world out there.’

‘Sometimes it feels as if I can’t breathe at home,’ complained Sasha later that day. She looked at the ground, which was some way down, and shook her head. ‘My dad is such an asshole. Who put him in charge of all the oxygen, eh?’

Sasha Savage was sitting alongside her two closest friends on the back of a ramp at the skate park. Sasha, Maisy and Faria came out here at lunch breaks just to get away from it all. The canteen was always packed with Years 7 and 8. Even if the girls were starving hungry, the shrieking and the smell of egg, farts and crisps was enough to persuade them to find some space. It meant Faria could light up while Sasha could air her problems.

‘What’s he done now?’ asked Maisy, a pretty, cheery girl whose manner served her well in her Saturday job as a waitress.

Sasha looked across at her. At that hour, the sun was at its brightest. She shielded her eyes with her hand before answering.

‘It’s Jack,’ she said. ‘Dad hates him.’

‘How can anyone hate Jack?’ asked Maisy. ‘He drives his own car and everything.’

‘Anyway, why is your old man so upset?’ This was Faria, whose gaze was locked on the school buildings as she pulled on the cigarette hidden in the palm of her hand.

‘It’s his new default position.’ Sasha checked her bag to see if she had packed her sunglasses. She sighed to herself, but not just because she had forgotten. ‘They haven’t even met.’

‘Typical,’ said Maisy. ‘Bloody dads!’

‘Jack’s cooking for me this weekend. All properly romantic and everything. His parents are out, so it’s a really good chance for us to get to know each other, only Dad has decided that I’d be placing my life in danger by dining alone with him.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Faria. ‘It’s not like Jack’s going to feast on your liver and spleen.’

Sasha returned her attention to the ground, quietly wishing she had some shades to hide behind. Behind them, a couple of lads who’d left school the year before were slamming from one side of the ramp to the other on skateboards. One worked evenings at the Cheepie Chicken takeaway. The other had been rejected by the army. None of the girls paid them any attention whatsoever.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ asked Maisy.

‘I wouldn’t want to let Jack down this soon in your relationship,’ warned Faria, before sucking on the cigarette like an asthmatic with an inhaler in the midst of an attack. ‘There are girls out there who would literally kill for a piece of him,’ she finished, on exhaling. ‘Let’s just say that if you fail to make it to his supper at the weekend I don’t suppose he’ll be dining alone.’ Faria took another hit on her hidden cigarette, seemingly unaware that Sasha was looking at her incredulously.

‘Jack wouldn’t cheat on me,’ she said eventually. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

7

In her teens, Lulabelle Hart had crossed catwalks from London to Milan. Her height, frame and freckles were perfectly suited for modelling, as was her tumbling red hair that she had learned to flick over her shoulder just as the camera shutter opened. For several years, Lulabelle lived a lifestyle that many would envy. Then the next generation of girls began to attract the attention of designers and magazine editors, and slowly the work took a slide. Now in her mid-twenties, Lulabelle’s last fashion shoot featured clothes most people had since passed on to the charity shop. Still, her agent continued to find her work, and though she no longer graced front covers you could still find her advertising sofas and conservatories in the back pages. Sadly, Lulabelle’s A-list days were long gone. What remained was her attitude.

‘Explain this to me,’ she said, having just swept into the Savage house on the morning of the shoot. She was standing in the front room, where a crew worked hard to set up lights and cameras. The shoot, an advert for a plug-in air freshener, required Lulabelle to play the role of a beautiful but harassed mother who finds escape in the synthetic aroma of a tropical seashore. Lately, Lulabelle had played a lot of beautiful but harassed mothers. Given her dislike of other people’s children touching surfaces and door handles, she found it all too depressing for words. ‘What is that?’

‘What is what?’ asked the production manager, a young woman with a clipboard and earpiece. She turned to see what Lulabelle was looking at. ‘It’s a mirror,’ she said, and stood beside the model to admire the framed vintage glass that hung above the fireplace. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? A work of art.’

Lulabelle leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

‘But it’s mottled and blotchy.’

‘It’s antique. That’s what happens. The silver backing peels away from the glass over time.’

Puzzled by this, Lulabelle turned to address the production manager directly.

‘What’s the point of a mirror when you can’t see your own reflection?’

Ivan Savage peered through a crack in the door. He watched the model in conversation with the production manager, and wondered who would be first to see the dead vole he had planted in the grate of the fireplace. He had found the creature in the yard that morning, disembowelled and abandoned by next door’s cat, and slipped it in just as his mother finished cleaning. Ivan held his breath, waiting for the first one to shriek, only to exhale in disappointment as several crew members placed a large flood lamp right in front of the fireplace. It was a shame because the cat had done a great job in teasing out the vital organs from the mouse, as well as removing its head.

‘Ivan! Come away from there.’ From the top of the stairs, Angelica Savage was forced to hiss at her son one more time before he closed the door. ‘We’re not here to disturb them!’

‘I’m bored already,’ he complained, and made his way back to the landing. ‘There’s nothing to do.’

‘You say that every time.’ Angelica ruffled his hair as he passed. ‘It’s only for the day.’

As Ivan sauntered by, Sasha emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing jeans and a capped T-shirt, with her hair scraped back in a band. It was clear that she’d made no big effort to dress. That, she hoped, would come later.

‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked, and looked nervously at her mother.

‘In his study. Working.’

‘But it’s a Saturday,’ said Sasha.

‘He has a lot on right now.’

‘I really need to speak to him about this evening.’

Angelica tipped her head, appraising her daughter.

‘This boy, Jack… is he important to you?’

Sasha looked a little unsure.

‘It’s just he’s my first,’ she said, and looked to the floorboards for a moment. ‘I mean my first, you know… boyfriend. I just want to see how it goes for now.’

Angelica met her gaze once more with a smile. Sasha was certainly flowering, but even she could see that her daughter wasn’t set to lose her head with this young man. If anything, she sounded as if she was discovering for herself that romance wasn’t always a fairy tale.

‘Then talk to your father calmly, like a grown-up,’ she told her. ‘I’m sure he can spare you a moment.’

Downstairs, Lulabelle Hart sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. She wasn’t there to eat, despite the offer of a bacon sandwich from the catering manager brought in to feed the cast and crew. Lulabelle didn’t really do food at this hour. Ever since she found herself in competition for modelling jobs, meals had become something she felt the need to control. Just then, the smell of eggs in the pan made her mouth moisten. Starting the day with a glass of warm water and a sprig of mint just didn’t compare. Still, it meant come lunchtime she would earn the right to make the most of what was on offer. Until then, Lulabelle closed her eyes and tipped her head back so the make-up artist could work.

‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’ the catering manager asked one more time, as he loaded the plates on the breakfast bar.

‘I’m fine,’ said Lulabelle, as a foundation brush whisked over her face. ‘Don’t torment me.’

Her response was so abrupt it left an awkward silence in the kitchen. It meant when footsteps creaked overhead, everybody heard.

‘Someone’s on the prowl,’ said the make-up artist.

‘Who lives here?’ asked Lulabelle. ‘That mirror is just wrong.’

‘Well, they like to cook,’ observed the catering manager. ‘Kitchens don’t come much classier than this.’

Lulabelle eyed the display of knives. They clung to a magnetic strip above a butcher’s block, and ranged in shape and size.

‘It’s just showing off,’ she said, as if to correct him. ‘I mean, how many blades do you need?’

‘Judging by the grooves in the block,’ said the catering manager, who had crossed the floor for a closer inspection. ‘I’d say they make full use of them all.’

This was a first for Titus Savage. Normally, the ground floor of the house would be hired out during the working week. It meant he could steer clear all day, forget about the intrusion, and then return from the office to find his wife happy and everything as it should be.

Now he found himself under the same roof as a film crew. Just thinking about them poking about down there made his temples throb. What’s more, he had work to do. A lot of it. If the takeover was going to happen, he needed to go through reams of documents to be sure everything was covered. Normally at weekends, Titus liked to close the door and spend time with his family. Instead, he faced a day of hell.

‘Dad, can I talk to you?’

Sasha had been sure to knock at the study door first. Even though it was wide open, she wanted to do everything right this time.

‘Honey, can it wait?’ asked Titus, without looking around from his desk.

‘Please? It won’t take a moment.’

Titus glanced over his shoulder, sighed to himself and then swivelled around in his chair.

‘So long as it doesn’t end in slamming doors,’ he said. ‘I’m too old for strops.’

Sasha smiled, embarrassed, and headed across to the window. It looked out over the back garden. From this viewpoint it was striking just how much better the plants and flowers thrived compared to neighbouring plots. Mindful of her grandfather’s advice, Sasha took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

‘I’m thinking it might be good if you met Jack after all,’ she said. ‘Just so you can see what he’s like.’

‘There’s no need,’ replied Titus, sounding disappointed. ‘I already have a good idea.’

Sasha reminded herself to stay calm.

‘When Ivan first blabbed that I was going out with him,’ she said, ‘you suggested that I invite him round.’

‘That was before,’ said Titus gruffly.

‘Before you found out he was a vegetarian?’ She glanced at her father, found him staring at his desk but nodding at the same time. Sasha had been ready for this response, however.

‘What if he was black?’ she asked cautiously, facing the window once more. ‘Asian or Chinese? Would you still refuse to let him in the house?’

‘Of course not. Honey…’

‘It’s still prejudice, Dad,’ she continued, finding her voice now. ‘You’re judging someone before you’ve got to know them.’

An awkward silence opened out between them. Titus had always considered himself to be a fair man. This accusation, from his own daughter, hurt him deeply.

‘Is that all you came to say?’ he asked.

‘I was also hoping we could talk about this evening,’ she began, facing him briefly one more time. ‘It would mean such a lot to me if you let me go.’

The way she phrased this brought a catch to his throat. Letting go at some point was all part of raising children. Not just for a couple of hours, but when they came to leave forever.

‘It’s difficult,’ he began, and rose from his chair. ‘We have traditions in this family. It’s what makes us strong. To bring a fruit-picker into the fold would risk destroying everything.’

‘I don’t want to marry Jack,’ she said, and turned to face him with both arms spread. ‘It’s just supper.’

Titus drew breath, only to respond with what sounded to Sasha like a long sigh of resignation. Just then, Titus realised that he needed to back off. If he didn’t, he really could risk losing her.

‘I want you back by ten o’clock,’ he told her warily. ‘Keep your mobile with you. If you’re worried at any time then call me, understood?’

‘Understood,’ she said, beaming at her father. ‘But you don’t have to worry. He’s a vegetarian, not a sex offender. There’s a difference.’

Before he could reply, Sasha skipped over, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then left him alone in the study. Titus watched her disappear. He gazed at the open door for a moment.

‘There may well be a difference,’ he muttered to himself, ‘but both are inexcusable.’

8

On an empty stomach, Lulabelle Hart could be somewhat fractious. Given her dietary habits, it was a mood that often lasted for much of the day. That morning, fuelled by a second glass of warm water (and a grape she had plucked from the fruit bowl in a moment of temptation) her performance was professional but underscored by a very short temper indeed.

‘Yes, we can try the lighting in a different way,’ she replied to the shoot’s director, a diplomatic and gifted helmsman who was simply trying to get the best from his cast. ‘Although I had expected to be working with a crew who could get that right first time.’

To be fair to Lulabelle, she could pose as well as she could swagger and strut. She just pushed the boundaries when it came to being civil. Approaching lunchtime, the poor props guy had been forced to empty the air freshener and fill it with a sample from Lulabelle’s perfume atomiser, before she ‘blew chunks into the camera lens’.

‘OK, let’s break for lunch,’ announced the director, sensing that he might need to turn down the emotional temperature. ‘Thirty minutes, everybody!’

While the cast and crew worked on the shoot in the front room, the catering manager had been busy in the kitchen. When everyone filed through, they found a buffet on the table with dishes appealing to every taste. Lulabelle wasn’t the first in line. The transport guys got in before her, but she was close behind. Without word, she began to fill her paper plate until there was no room for anything else. She went for the lime shrimp tacos, the fettuccine with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes, a slice of courgette and goat’s cheese tart, a wedge from the pistachio and pork pie, several scoops of beetroot and couscous salad, two bread rolls, four individually wrapped, reduced-fat butter pats and three super-chocolate cupcakes. Nobody liked to comment, of course. Everyone was hungry after such an early start. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed when Lulabelle took herself to a chair overlooking the garden that her lunch was less of a snack and more of a banquet. It took her the full half-hour to clear the plate. This was partly down to the fact that she spent much of it on a call to her agent.

‘The catwalk work,’ she was heard to say, still chewing on a Thai fried rice ball. ‘It’s why I signed with you… yes, I realise my career has matured, but there has to be more on offer than… well, this.’

As a result of the exchange, most of the crew returned to work fully expecting Lulabelle to be difficult, abrupt and even outright rude. Instead, she performed three further set-ups without complaint. She was also witty and even motivational with the child actress when the afternoon lull set in. On the last take, following a nod from the marketing lady sitting quietly in the corner, the director began a round of applause directed at Lulabelle.

‘You were brilliant,’ he told her. ‘The product will fly.’

With only some close ups of the air freshener left to shoot, Lulabelle asked politely if she could now leave the set. The make-up artist offered to cleanse her face, but by all accounts she was in too much of a hurry. She seemed happy, they said, if a little troubled, like someone who was questioning whether they had left the iron on before setting out for work that day.

Having thanked every crew member, Lulabelle collected her coat and left the front room. She closed the door behind her, but instead of leaving the house she headed straight for the toilet at the far end of the hallway. As she reached for the handle, the sound of the bolt withdrawing on the inside caused her to take a step back. Then the door opened outwards and the lighting man appeared. He seemed surprised to find anyone waiting, and hurried away without making eye contact. Unconcerned, Lulabelle took his place in the toilet, only to come right out again with her face pinched in an expression of utter disgust. Good grief, what had he been eating? There was no way she could bear to go in there for at least ten minutes. The way she felt just then, that was ten minutes too long. Which was what persuaded her to take to the stairs and find another bathroom.

Ivan Savage did not enjoy killing time. He liked to keep busy. That morning, having spent an hour battling zombies in his bedroom, the boy grew tired of videogames and turned his mind to other matters.

He had heard Sasha talking to their father in the study. No doubt his sister was hoping to sweeten him up so she could see her new boyfriend. Ivan knew Jack from school. The guy was good at buttering up girls, but that’s not how he treated boys in the years below him. If you didn’t step out of his way in the corridor, Jack would just barge through like you didn’t exist. It had happened to Ivan on several occasions. If anything, it just reinforced everything his father said about vegetarians. They were just so self-important, strutting around like they had life all worked out. Well, thought Ivan as the day stretched ahead, he would show Jack that sometimes you couldn’t simply have everything on a plate.

Even if Sasha talked her way into an evening out, Ivan decided that she should show up at Jack’s place with a headache. That would take the edge off any special time they had planned. Not only would it teach Sasha a lesson for making cheap jokes at his expense, he would do it in a way that afterwards everyone would look back and laugh.

At the top of the stairs, Lulabelle Hart decided not to disturb the family. She could hear someone at work in the study, clattering away on a keyboard, while all the bedroom doors on this level were closed. Lulabelle really didn’t want to venture up to the next floor and disturb the chatter, gurgling and laughter up there. It sounded like some old guy and a woman playing with a toddler, and left her feeling as if she was trespassing.

So, treading lightly, Lulabelle crossed the landing for the family bathroom. She would be in and out in moments, after all. They would never know.

Lulabelle didn’t recognise that she had a problem with food. She loved to eat, when she allowed herself. It helped her to forget what a slide her career was in. What she loathed was the feeling of guilt that expanded in her stomach soon afterwards. In her business, you just couldn’t afford to lose your self-control as she did, which is why she had developed a strategy for indulging herself without piling on the pounds.

‘Let’s get this done,’ she said to herself, on locking the door behind her.

This wasn’t something Lulabelle enjoyed. There was some satisfaction to be had from the way it preserved her figure, despite the stomach cramps, but the procedure itself she found to be a bore. She knew just how to trigger the required response, which she prepared to do having knelt in front of the toilet bowl and lifted the lid. Inserting two fingers into her mouth, Lulabelle reached back for her tonsils and prepared for the involuntary gag reflex that would follow.

It was over in moments, as she had predicted. With her partially digested lunch now floating in the toilet, and her eyes watering from the exertion, Lulabelle grabbed some paper to wipe her mouth and then reached up for the flush. It was good to do this quickly. It minimised any odour. Wishing fortune would look kindly upon her just once in what was left of her career, Lulabelle pulled the handle down. She would’ve been unaware that one end of a long length of cotton thread was tied to it. She may have heard a clatter as the iron was jerked from its moorings on the shelf above the door behind her, but it happened too quickly for her to react. With the flex tied to the light fitting overhead, the iron simply swooped across the room before the sharp end penetrated the back of her skull. Such was the impact that Lulabelle Hart was dead before her face dropped into the gurgling water.

9

Vernon English had a habit of nodding off during long surveillance operations. It had happened on several occasions during his time as a serving police officer, and certainly contributed to the suggestion that he retire early or face dismissal. As a private investigator, it still wasn’t a quality that served him well, but sometimes his tired old body just called the shots.

As he surfaced from a snooze that afternoon, slouched inside his scuffed white van, Vernon realised that someone had just left the Savage residence. It was the sound of the front door shutting that had woken him. He sat up in his seat, straining to see who it was. He had parked up on the opposite side of the street, some way down from the house. When he saw the daughter emerge on to the pavement, he relaxed visibly. Vernon wasn’t here to stake out the wife and kids. Titus Savage was his only figure of interest, and already he had revealed himself to have a sinister side. Photographs Vernon had taken of Titus talking to the man in the back alley revealed a great deal. It turned out that the guy was a mole, an employee of the company Titus was circling. For the time being, Vernon had decided to keep this information to himself. It was just a question of gathering enough evidence so he could truly skewer the predator before he pounced.

‘Eyes down,’ he muttered to himself as Sasha crossed the street in front of him, before tipping his cap low over his brow. ‘That’s it, Miss Savage. Walk on by.’

As soon as he heard her pass the van, Vernon opened his eyes and watched her heading down the street. She looked all dressed up, clearly going places. Just then, being a teenager seemed a very long time ago to the private investigator. He didn’t want to think about all the screw-ups and the disappointments that littered the landscape of his life from back then until now. Vernon glanced at the time on the dashboard and cursed. He had been asleep for hours. Anything could’ve happened. Fortunately for him, Titus Savage’s black 4x4 was still parked in on the drive in front of the house. In all likelihood, the man would be quietly holed up in his study waiting for the commercial shoot crew to pack up and go home. Vernon shifted his buttocks on the seat. It was a relief that he hadn’t missed anything. He just hoped that situation would change some time soon.

One by one, the Savages gathered around the body of the model with her head in the toilet bowl. Titus stood with both hands clasped behind him. He was staring at the penetrating wound to the back of her head. The one that had turned the water claret. Grandpa stroked and scratched at his beard, rubbing his gums together at the same time. Angelica stood beside him with the baby on her hip. She closed her eyes and sighed, as if they were simply dealing with a blockage here. Katya was toying with a dummy in her mouth. She didn’t look at all concerned by the discovery of a corpse in the house.

‘It was an accident,’ said Ivan uncomfortably, loitering by the sink.

Titus turned his attention to the iron. It was still strung up to the light fitting by the flex, twisting gently behind the body of Lulabelle Hart.

‘An accident,’ he said quietly. ‘Right.’

‘OK, well, it wasn’t aimed at her,’ Ivan bowed his head. ‘It was a prank meant for Sasha.’

‘A joke?’ Angelica struggled to stay calm. ‘Ivan, you could’ve killed your sister.’

‘I assumed she’d see it coming and catch it!’ Ivan protested. ‘In the nose or her forehead,’ he added as if to clarify. ‘Nobody warned me someone else would come in here and then kneel in front of the bowl.’

As a defence, even Ivan could tell it wasn’t washing.

‘It’s clear you’ve been creative,’ said his mother, searching for some way for him to accept responsibility for what had happened here. ‘But there’s a difference between being creative and, well, lethal.’

‘So, blame Jack!’ he replied hotly. ‘If he hadn’t asked Sasha round this wouldn’t have happened!’

‘Darling, you’re missing the point.’ Angelica shifted Katya into her other arm. ‘There’s a dead model in our bathroom and the crew are still downstairs.’

‘So,’ said Grandpa, who continued to size up the corpse. ‘What shall we do?’

It was Titus who had found the body. Shortly after Sasha had popped in to say she was heading out, and promised not to let him down, he left the study to find Ivan outside the bathroom. The boy looked troubled, and reluctant to explain himself after Titus tested the door and discovered it to be locked from the inside. When Angelica, Kat and Grandpa joined them, Titus decided to force an entry. Nobody shrieked or screamed when he succeeded. Instead, the tragic scene that greeted the family was met by sighs and groans, before all eyes turned to Ivan.

‘Does this mean I’m grounded?’ he asked just then. ‘What am I looking at here? A week?’

Titus drew breath to suggest a lot longer when the sound of someone clearing their throat at the foot of the stairs caused them all to start.

‘Hello? Anyone there?’

‘Hi,’ said Angelica, as brightly as she could, while looking thoroughly panicked. ‘How can we help?’

‘Just to let you know that we’ve wrapped.’

‘Oh… oh, right!’ Gathering her wits, Angelica handed baby Kat to Titus and hurried out to the top of the stairs. ‘I hope everything went to plan.’

She found the shoot’s director looking up at her from the hallway.

‘It went better than expected,’ he said. ‘Our star did such a fine job that she’s already gone home. We’re just sweeping the place down to make sure we haven’t left anything behind.’

Angelica looked blankly at him for a moment. When she did register what that meant, she brightened visibly.

‘So, everything is back as you found it?’ she asked. ‘As per the terms of your contract with the agency?’

‘As good as new,’ he assured her. ‘You won’t know anyone’s been here.’

Jack Greenway lived a short walk from the Savage house. To get there, Sasha crossed the park towards the west gate. It was a broad expanse of grassland, tree-lined paths and bushes. Her parents used to take her to the playground near the rose garden or push her in a buggy around the lake. She’d learned to ride a bike here, too. Then, as she grew older, Titus worried that it was no place for a girl like her to be alone.

One day, Sasha thought to herself on reaching Jack’s road, he would recognise that his eldest daughter could take care of herself. Thanks to her family way, it wasn’t as if she was an innocent in this world.

‘Hey,’ said Jack, who opened the front door just as she reached for the buzzer. He was wearing a chef’s apron with a slim-fit T-shirt underneath. ‘Do you like tahini?’

‘Oh. I’ve never tried it, actually.’

Sasha was wearing a shift top, skinny jeans and ballet flats, with her hair pinned as she liked it. Jack checked her up and down, grinned and stepped aside to let her in.

‘We’re talking food of the gods,’ he said, and invited her into the kitchen. ‘This evening might even turn you.’

The first thing Sasha noticed was the smell of cooking. What struck her most was the complete absence of any meat aromas. This came as no surprise, but it was still something that failed to connect with her taste buds. She turned and smiled at Jack. He was so handsome it almost hurt her to make eye contact. Sasha still found it difficult to believe that he had just breezed up to her one day and asked her out. That had never happened to her before, though she knew she didn’t help herself. Being different from every other human being she had ever met outside her family made it hard to let just anyone into her life. That evening, she was looking forward to getting beyond the good looks to find out what made Jack tick. She saw it as a chance to talk and find out if his personality lived up to his appearance. Just then, what worried her was the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to stomach his meal. Aware that he was watching her closely, Sasha inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

‘It smells delicious,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘You’re early.’ Jack slipped his arms around her waist. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least, but I know a way to fill the time.’

Seeing where this was going, Sasha smiled and removed his hand from her behind.

‘Actually, I thought I could help you cook,’ she said, and took a step away.

Jack grinned, nodding to himself as if somehow he’d just been presented with a challenge.

‘Everything is under control,’ he told her. ‘For you, this evening is all about surprises.’

Now it was Sasha’s turn to smile.

‘Well, being here beats hanging around at home right now,’ she said, as Jack pulled out a chair for her. ‘It’s so boring when the place gets hired out for shoots.’

‘Sounds cool to me.’ Jack crossed the kitchen floor to inspect a pan on the hob. ‘You must’ve had loads of famous people in your place.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Sasha. ‘But it just means the whole family have to stay upstairs. Nothing interesting ever happens.’

10

The body of Lulabelle Hart lay face up on the bathroom floor. The skin was beginning to take on a mottled texture, much like the mirror over the fireplace downstairs.

As soon as Grandpa and Titus had hauled her out of the pan, it was clear that she had died with a look of utter surprise on her face. As a mark of respect, and in case it upset the baby, Angelica kneeled beside the corpse and closed her eyelids. At least then it didn’t look as if the woman was expecting the roof to fall in on her.

‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’ Titus asked Ivan, who by now was looking very subdued. He spoke quietly, and not just because of the crew downstairs. In times of anger, Titus never yelled at anyone. Instead, with his eyes pinched at the corners, he would voice his true feelings in a whisper that sounded like a bellow just waiting to break out. ‘You can’t just go killing people without purpose. How have I raised a boy who thinks this is acceptable? You’ve let me down very badly here. I’m so disappointed in you.’

The boy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

‘We could always eat her,’ he suggested.

Titus closed his eyes for a moment more than a blink.

‘Ivan, we’ve no idea where she’s been.’

‘But we have to do something,’ he said.

Grandpa eased himself down to take a closer look.

‘It would be a shame to let her go to waste,’ he said, and gently grasped her bicep as if to evaluate the flesh. ‘At least that way we know there’ll be no evidence left.’

Titus glanced at his wife. Angelica looked down at the body, but Kat was back in her arms and wriggling to be set on the tiles.

‘Normally this takes planning,’ she said. ‘I’m all out of onions, for one thing.’

Joining Grandpa at ground level, Titus reached forward and grasped Lulabelle by the hinges of her jaw. Carefully, he opened her mouth to its full extent before running a finger along the inside of her upper teeth. He stared at the wall as he did so, concentrating hard.

‘Eating is out,’ he declared, and removed his finger. ‘The tooth enamel has been eroded back there. It’s caused over time by stomach acids coming back up through vomiting. Whatever caused this poor young lady’s problems, she’s not a healthy specimen now. We’d be faced with kidney damage, ulcers, even brittle bones.’

Clasping Titus by the shoulder for support, Grandpa rose to his feet.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said. ‘For her and for us.’

When Titus stood up, he found Angelica considering him.

‘You’ll have to drop her off,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

Titus had already sensed that this was coming. Even before his wife had made the suggestion, he just knew that his Saturday evening on the sofa would be ruined.

Sasha Savage sat alone at the dining-room table. She clasped at her napkin nervously. The clock on the wall told her it was approaching half past seven. She could hear Jack in the kitchen, readying what he had called an amuse bouche.

‘It’s just a something,’ he said, on appearing at the door with a little plate in each hand. ‘They call it an amusement for the mouth. A palate tickler.’

With great ceremony, Jack Greenway set a plate in front of his guest. Sasha peered down at the offering. It was golden, crispy-looking, and about the size of a kidney.

‘Sweet battered courgette flower.’

For a moment, Sasha was lost for words.

‘Flowers are edible?’ she asked.

‘You’d be surprised what you can eat when you forgo meat.’

‘Well, I’ve learned something,’ she said, and collected her fork. ‘We don’t get this at home.’

‘Allow me.’ Jack took the fork from her, perching on the edge of the table at the same time. Then, giving no chance for Sasha to prepare herself, he jabbed the morsel and offered it for her to bite into. ‘Enjoy.’

‘I’m sure I will.’

Keen to please him, Sasha took the nugget in her mouth and crunched into it. She wasn’t sure what to expect. What she hadn’t anticipated was how hot it would be, and instinctively popped it into the palm of her hand.

‘Oh,’ said Jack, and left the edge of the table. ‘After all that.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ said Sasha desperately. ‘I just didn’t want to burn my mouth. I’m sure it’s fine now.’

In a bid to demonstrate that she didn’t hate it, and praying that the temperature would be a little more bearable, she tipped the battered flower back into her mouth and crunched into it.

‘So?’ said Jack, watching closely. ‘Out of ten?’

‘Ten,’ replied Sasha, and switched it with her tongue from one cheek wall to the other. It didn’t taste bad as such; a little bland, maybe, but she sensed that somehow an honest opinion would offend. ‘Definitely a ten,’ she added instead, and prepared for a testing evening.

As darkness settled, Vernon English wondered whether he should write off the day. He had staked out the Savage house since the camera crew rolled in. Now they had packed up and left, but still Titus remained inside. Vernon figured a City shark like him wouldn’t completely switch off from work for the weekend. Given the questionable methods the private investigator had witnessed him employ, surely he’d use the time to meet up informally and off the record with other players in the looming takeover? No, Vernon couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the man for a moment.

At the same time, after nearly ten hours in the van, he was ravenously hungry.

‘Come on, Titus, old son,’ he muttered to himself at one point. ‘A guy has got to eat.’

Half an hour later, just as Vernon was about to put a call into his favourite Indian restaurant to see if they’d bike him a Tandoori king prawn and naan bread, his man made an appearance. The private investigator sat up straight in the driver’s seat. There at the front door, silhouetted by the light from the hall, Titus Savage kissed his wife on the cheek before turning for his 4x4. He had one of those holdalls on wheels with him. It looked heavy, judging by the effort Titus put into heaving it onto the back seat. If Titus was about to head out on business, Vernon would be ready.

The private investigator may have neglected to pack a sandwich, but he had an overnight bag on the back seat and a passport in the glove compartment. Living alone, he could fly at a moment’s notice. The company that hired him were convinced that Titus operated outside the law. Desperate for evidence, and with time running out, they had instructed Vernon to do whatever was necessary. Checking his key was in the ignition, Vernon waited for Titus to pull out onto the road and hoped they were heading somewhere nice. New York or Barcelona. Any place known for its restaurants and street food.

Vernon kept his distance as they made their way out of the city. He had tailed many people throughout the course of his career, and never been spotted by anyone. Titus wasn’t difficult to follow. He was a careful, considered driver. He didn’t once break the speed limit, and slowed long before he passed through a speed trap. In a way, it was just too easy. Vernon drove with one hand on the wheel, sighing to himself every now and then as he braked to keep his distance. Without doubt, Titus was heading for the motorway orbital. The private investigator knew this stretch of road well. He was also well aware that they were about to pass a drive-in. His stomach had been rumbling over the sound of the van’s radio. Having last eaten at breakfast time, he felt weak with hunger. It would take him no time at all to collect a maxi bag of chicken nuggets and a strawberry shake. He’d easily catch up with Titus before he reached the motorway. As the neon sign for the drive-in loomed into view, it seemed to him that there could be no other option. Given that his next meal might not come until he was strapped into an airplane seat, it made sense to fuel up now. Leaving Titus to trundle on, Vernon accelerated off the road and screeched to a halt before the serving hatch. It was, without a doubt, the most exciting thing he’d done all day.

‘Make it snappy,’ he told the youngster serving him. ‘Got a flight to catch.’

A minute after placing his order, with the shake lodged between his thighs and a bucket of nuggets riding alongside him, Vernon fishtailed back onto the road and hit the accelerator. By his reckoning, Titus would be back in his sights within thirty seconds at most.

Twenty miles later, cursing at the top of his voice, Vernon English was forced to join the motorway with no sign of the man he had set out to follow. He wasn’t even sure that Titus had headed in the direction of the airport. All he could do was follow his instinct and drive there any way. Just then, with the shake finished, the last nugget in the bucket at his side tasted like a very bitter pill indeed.

11

Thankfully for the Savages, Lulabelle Hart had been supple and forgiving when they came to fold her into the holdall. From experience, Titus knew that the muscles in a corpse slowly began to stiffen from around the three-hour mark. It took between twelve and twenty-four hours before the body became totally rigid for a while. So long as everything went to plan, as it had on previous occasions, he would be unpacking her with plenty of time to spare. Titus anticipated a little resistance, of course, but he really didn’t want to be breaking a sweat trying to straighten the model’s limbs before letting her go.

Even with rigor mortis in mind, Titus was in no hurry to reach the coast. Rushing always led to mistakes, which was something he had learned at a very early age. It was his late mother who taught him the importance of patience. We take our time in the kitchen and look at the results, she would say. It’s the same when it comes to covering our tracks.

On the way, Titus considered what to do with his son. Ivan was a complicated boy, but this incident in the bathroom was quite a wake-up call. A cry for help, in many ways, he thought to himself on reflection. It left Titus feeling guilty. As a father, had he let him down? Work took up so much of his time, especially lately with the big takeover he had lined up. Still, that was no excuse. If he’d spent the day with Ivan, instead of shutting himself away in his study, then he wouldn’t be driving into the night with a dead diva in the boot.

By the time he arrived at his destination, which took the shape of an empty headland car park, Titus resolved to return a different man. He owed it not just to his son but Sasha, too. He had been a little hard on her about this boy. She had shown maturity in handling the situation, and as her father he needed to acknowledge that. Just then, however, he had a job to do. Titus climbed out of the 4x4, collecting his coat and a scarf from the passenger seat. It was a clear, cool night, with a hint of salt on the breeze. A mothball moon hung over the ocean. The water glittered underneath it, like a silver carpet rolled out from the horizon, but now was not the time to admire the view. Extending the handle to the holdall, Titus made his way across the headland towards the cliff edge.

As a beauty spot, Beachy Head was unbeatable. As a suicide magnet, the towering chalk cliff edge was notorious for drawing the despondent. Given the impact wound to the back of Lulabelle’s Hart’s head, dropping her body onto the rocks way below seemed like the only option available to Titus. She’d pick up many more injuries on her way down, after all, which would cover the real cause of death. At the foot of the cliff, she’d just be another sad statistic. He took no pleasure in considering this. If anything, he felt quite maudlin as he plodded across the grass. Titus was so lost in thought, in fact, dwelling on how he’d failed his son, that for a moment he didn’t register the figure sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. When he finally realised what he was facing, he stopped in his tracks and released his grip on the holdall handle. Then, moving slowly so as not to startle or alarm the young man, Titus stepped wide until he drew alongside him. He guessed the guy was in his early twenties, despite weeping to himself like a lost little boy.

‘It’s a beautiful night,’ said Titus finally, with both hands in his coat pockets. ‘It would be a shame if this was your last.’

The young man looked around with a start. Hurriedly, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. Titus nodded in greeting, and then returned his gaze to the horizon line.

‘Leave me alone,’ he heard him mutter. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘No, but I know why you’re here. You’re a jumper, right?’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘But it’s true.’ Titus turned to face him. ‘And the fact that you can’t even handle hearing the word tells me you don’t really want to take your own life. Right now, the idea is more attractive than the reality.’

The young man choked back a sob. Titus noted the bicycle in the grass behind him, and marked him down as a local.

‘It’s all gone wrong,’ he croaked. ‘Everything.’

Titus watched him weep for a moment. Then he produced a handkerchief from his pocket.

‘Here,’ he said, and stepped a little closer. ‘Dry your eyes.’

At first the young man refused it, but Titus insisted.

‘I loved her,’ he said, and blew his nose. ‘I know everyone says that breaking up hurts, but I can’t go on without her in my life. There’s no reason for me to be here any more.’

‘I can think of one,’ said Titus straight away. ‘Your family.’

‘What do they care?’ he sniffed. ‘I left home last year.’

‘But you never leave their hearts,’ said Titus, and tapped his chest. ‘Whatever stage you’re at in life, you’ll always find a place there.’

The young man wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. Then he screwed up his eyes and attempted to hold back a sob.

‘My parents won’t care,’ he said, and dug his fingernails into the grass as if braced to push himself off.

‘Oh, they care all right!’ Titus held out his hand, bidding him to halt. At the same time, he was ready if the guy chose to reach out for him. ‘Trust me. As a father, it’s my role to be there for my kids, even if they turn their backs on me.’

‘You reckon?’ The young man looked like he was listening at least.

‘No doubt about it,’ Titus assured him. ‘Everyone has to tread their own path through life, and make mistakes along the way. I just hope my children know that when they screw up my door is always open.’

The guy was just staring at Titus now. Finally, he blinked as if a spell had broken.

‘Anyway, what are you doing out here at this time?’

‘Well, I’ve no plans to throw myself off,’ said Titus. ‘I’d rather be at home with my wife, in fact. It’s where I belong.’

For a moment, the pair looked out across the sea in silence.

‘I cycled straight here when I read her note,’ said the man eventually. ‘She’d taken her stuff and everything. Killing myself seemed like the only option.’

‘You want to kill the pain,’ said Titus, as if to correct him. ‘That’s understandable, and I imagine just putting it into words right now is helping you to feel a little better.’

This time the man offered a brief smile,

‘I guess.’

‘So, why don’t you take that crappy bike of yours and head back to your folks? Doesn’t matter when you last saw them or what was said. Trust me, whenever you’re in trouble it’s the only place to be.’

The young man just stared at Titus for a second. Then he turned and bowed his head. Titus watched him, close to tears himself, and then smiled when he climbed to his feet and took a step away from the cliff edge.

‘Is everything OK?’ the man asked next, as he collected his bike from the grass. It was a comment he would go on to share with the investigating officers some months later, for the shaven-headed guardian angel who had just saved his life appeared to be welling up.

‘It will be,’ said Titus. ‘Just as soon as I get home.’

Sasha Savage felt peculiar. After three courses, she’d expected to be bloated and full. Instead, she set down her dessert spoon in the plate she’d just cleared, feeling strangely nourished.

‘That was… good,’ she said.

‘You sound surprised.’ On the other side of the candle lights, Jack Greenway had been watching his dinner date finish her final mouthful. ‘We vegetarians know how to entertain, you know?’

‘OK, it was more than good,’ said Sasha. ‘It was great.’

Jack leaned in a little closer.

‘Do you really mean that?’

Following the fried flower episode, things had picked up considerably. Sasha had quite enjoyed the artichoke bruschetta that Jack served for starters. The main dish, a gratin that contained a lot of beans, was certainly edible. What it lacked, in her opinion, was any bite and sinew. Still, this was Jack Greenway cooking for her. Jack Greenway. Granted, he had spent much of the meal talking about himself. When he did ask her a question, it was about the food he had cooked for her. Still, it was clear to Sasha that he had made a big effort. Even if the conversation had been a little one way, it was only polite that she complimented his culinary efforts. The meal had been much better than she imagined, even if she did wonder if there would be any sliced meat at home for a late-night sandwich.

‘I loved it,’ she said, and folded her napkin.

‘That’s great to hear,’ said Jack as a grin eased across his face. ‘So, after all that, would you?’

Sasha’s eyes widened. Having dismissed her father’s warnings about dining alone with the guy, she suddenly wondered whether he might have been right after all.

‘Would I what?’

‘Turn,’ said Jack. ‘Could you become meat-free for me? I was hoping that this evening has showed you the joy to be had from eating food that didn’t once have a mother or a face.’

Sasha screwed up her face.

‘Eating meat isn’t all that bad.’

‘It should be a crime in my opinion,’ said Jack. ‘Carnivores show no respect for life or the natural order.’

‘But a falafel deserves everything it gets?’ Sasha said this with such a disarming smile that Jack could find no argument.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘Sometimes I forget that not everyone shares my views about eating.’

I know the feeling, thought Sasha.

‘It’s good to believe in something,’ she said instead. ‘It shows a strong spirit.’

Jack didn’t respond for a moment. He just held Sasha’s gaze to the point where she had to blink and look away.

‘You know I’m thinking about going vegan,’ he said eventually. ‘Totally plant-based eating. No dairy. Nothing.’

‘Wow,’ said Sasha, who didn’t quite know how to respond to this news. ‘Hardcore.’

‘I hoped you’d be impressed,’ he said. ‘Just as I’m pleased this little supper of mine has given you food for thought.’

‘It really has,’ said Sasha, and hoped perhaps that things would move from the table to the sofa some time soon. Making out in the front room seemed more appealing to her than this culinary inquisition, though she certainly wasn’t the kind of girl to set her sights on the bedroom. Not after such a short time together. Then again, judging by the way Jack remained in his chair with his eyes locked on hers, it didn’t look like they were going anywhere.

‘So, what do you think about the next seven days?’ he asked her eventually. ‘Could you go without meat for a week?’

‘What?’ said Sasha, who struggled to find the right response. ‘Seriously?’

Slowly, as a thought took shape in his mind, Jack sat back and lifted his chin by an inch.

‘Actually, let’s see what you’re really made from,’ he said. ‘Make it a month!

‘But, Jack—’

‘It would mean so much to me,’ he purred. ‘I just know there’s a vegetarian inside you.’

Ten minutes after her daughter was supposed to return home that evening, Angelica began disinfecting the kitchen surfaces with an antibacterial spray. The commercial people had brought in professional cleaners as the contract dictated. They had left it spotless, and that included removing the eviscerated vole from the fire grate without even a shriek. Angelica hadn’t found fault with any of it. They had even sought her approval before leaving. Then again, her reason for going over things one more time had nothing to do with cleanliness. It was simply a distraction as she fretted about Sasha.

Angelica had tried her mobile, only for it to go to voice message. Calling Titus wasn’t an option. As a precaution, he had left his phone at home. Taking it with him would only leave a digital footprint, and that was the last thing he needed. All she could do was work the cloth over the countertops and hope that her family would be back under the same roof soon. Angelica struggled not to fear the worst, which was why she gasped when a voice broke the silence behind her.

‘I can’t sleep.’

Spinning around, she found Ivan in his pyjamas. He looked paler than ever, and very gloomy.

‘My boy,’ she said, and opened her arms to offer him a hug. ‘I know you’ve made some mistakes today, but I do still love you so.’

Ivan walked into his mother’s arms. He didn’t return the squeeze, and just gazed at his reflection in the French windows behind her.

‘Dad is really disappointed in me, isn’t he?’

‘He’ll get over it.’ Angelica moved her hands to his shoulders, and straightened her arms. She took a long look at Ivan, gazing into his eyes. ‘You’re his only son,’ she said. ‘It’s important to him that you grow up with his values, just as he grew up with Grandpa’s. Killing people for kicks isn’t something they would ever consider.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ he said to remind her.

‘I know that, said Angelica. ‘Just don’t let it happen again, OK?’

Ivan nodded, and then turned along with his mother at the sound of a key in the front door. Angelica held her breath on hearing footsteps in the hall. When Titus walked into the kitchen, leaving an empty-looking holdall behind him, she forced a smile that he saw through immediately.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, shrugging off his coat.

Angelica glanced down at Ivan, indicating that the conversation could wait. Titus understood, and considered his son for a moment.

‘Ivan,’ he said finally. ‘I blame myself for what happened. I shouldn’t have shut myself away with work all morning. Not at the weekend. That’s family time. But we can’t go back. It’s done now. If you’ve learned a valuable lesson here, then that woman won’t have died in vain.’

The boy nodded, and then agreed with his father that it was time to return to bed. He scuttled off looking much brighter, which drew an admiring smile from Titus. Then he faced Angelica, and breathed out long and hard.

‘What a night,’ he said, crossing the floor to collect two wine glasses from the rack.

‘It isn’t over yet,’ said Angelica, and paused until she had his full attention. ‘Sasha hasn’t come home.’

Titus set down the glasses on the counter. He glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes tightening at the same time. His gaze only shifted at the sound of a car pulling up outside. He looked at Angelica, who stared back, clearly straining to listen just like him. As the vehicle halted, the engine cut out immediately. Even before it came back into life, with barely a squeeze on the pedal, Titus knew for sure that there had to be batteries supporting the motor under the bonnet.

‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘The vegetarian drives a hybrid.’

Angelica knew he was talking about those eco-friendly cars, but was in no mood to discuss the advantages and disadvantages.

‘Go easy on her,’ she said, as if fearful that Titus might explode. ‘And let’s keep what happened today to ourselves. The model had an eating disorder, and we shouldn’t let our daughter dwell on that. She’s at an impressionable age.’

‘Which is why we need to know what kind of boy has kept her from home.’

A moment later, Sasha appeared at the kitchen door. She took a breath on finding her parents waiting for her, and pressed a hand to her chest. Judging by the state of her hair, it was also quite clear to Titus and Angelica that their daughter had been thoroughly ravished.

‘Oh,’ was all she had to say, and looked at the floor tiles between them. ‘It isn’t as bad as it looks.’ She paused there to adjust the neck of her top. ‘Well, not that bad,’ she added, and braved facing her mother and father.

A moment passed before Angelica regained the ability to close her mouth. Titus, however, appeared to see beyond Sasha’s late return and dishevelled state.

‘Hello, honey,’ he said, and stepped forward to hug her more tightly than ever before. In his embrace, Sasha looked in shock at her mother, who shared the same expression. ‘Everyone is home. Nothing horrible can happen now. We Savages are safe here. Always have been, always will.’ After a moment’s silence, Titus pulled back to look his speechless, puzzled daughter in the eyes. ‘Hey,’ he said, sounding uncomfortably bright, before smoothing her hair with his hand, ‘it was kind of Jack to make sure you got back in one piece. You really should’ve invited him in to say hello.’

‘I’m still not sure that’s such a good idea just yet.’

‘What? Are we embarrassing parents?’ Titus touched his fingers to his chest and flashed a grin at Angelica. ‘I insist, Sasha. Bring him round so we can meet him. I promise we won’t bite.’