Felicity lived just outside Chiswick, in a purpose-built flat presumably bought for her by Giles. It wasn’t too far from Chelsea and, by now, the rush hour was over, so the run was smooth. That was the best that could be said for the whole scenario. I wondered what she’d thought when I didn’t turn up, and whether she’d believe me when I told her the tape had been recovered. I was looking forward to telling her, to be honest. It was the first good news I’d delivered in a while.

As we neared Chiswick, my thoughts drifted to Grace. I wondered again what she’d made of my arrest, and whether she was back with Sparkes. I hoped not but, knowing how flighty she could be, I suspected it was probably the case.

Still, there was nothing I could do about it, no matter how heavy my heart. I was still the prime suspect in a murder investigation and, with that hanging over my head, she was best off away from me. Though she hadn’t rattled me exactly, DI Brown’s final words had had an impact. I was a liability, if nothing else.

The evening light was paling as the taxi pulled up outside Felicity’s building. I got out the car, feeling almost excited at the news I was about to deliver. It was a good feeling to be the bearer of glad tidings for once but, even before I mounted the steps, I had a feeling something wasn’t right.

I knew which one was her flat. I’d followed her home after her fuckfest in the car park, and I’d waited until she got in to make sure she was safe. The light had come on, shortly after she’d entered. It was the ground floor flat on the left; the flat which now had its curtains open and only a dull light emanating from it.

I looked in at the window, and that was when I saw the sight I hope I never have to see again. Felicity was sprawled across the floor in the middle of the living room, one arm outstretched, her head turned to the side. She wasn’t moving. I tried to force open the front door, but it was solid. I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do, before heading into the porch and ringing all the buzzers on the entry board.

After what seemed an eternity, one of them answered.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘Open up. There’s something wrong with the girl downstairs.’

I waited, but no response came, nor did any buzz to let me in. I rang again. This time several people answered, talking across each other and sounding pissed off.

‘Open the fucking door,’ I shouted. ‘It’s an emergency.’

This time, the buzzer sounded. I had no way of knowing who’d listened to my plea, but I thanked them silently as I pushed open the main front door and raced through to her own. It was nowhere near as solid as the main door. The usual crap quality of the purpose-built flat, for which I was grateful. I put my shoulder forward and rammed into it as hard as I could muster.

It started to give immediately but, even as I pulled myself back for the second thrust, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘Excuse me.’ It was a foreign voice, female. ‘I have the key.’

I assumed it was the concierge. To be truthful, I didn’t give a fuck who it was. They were there, the key to Felicity’s flat in their hand. For that fact alone, I applauded them. I stood back and waited while she grappled with the lock, my heart banging against my ribcage as if it wanted a swift exit.

After a few failed attempts – I think my panicked demeanour was making her nervous – I heard the lock click open. I didn’t wait for her to stand aside, but pushed straight past her into the living room I’d seen from outside. If I’d been hoping to be greeted by a different view, I was disappointed. She hadn’t moved at all. She lay in exactly the same pose, slumped on the floor. What I hadn’t been able to make out from outside were the pill bottles, strewn haphazardly around her, or the slices to her wrists, still seeping blood.

‘Mon Dieu,’ said the concierge, or whoever she was, from behind me.

I pulled out my phone to call for an ambulance. They wanted the usual ins and outs and, with each inconsequential question, I grew increasingly frustrated.

‘Can’t you just get here?’ I spat at them, after a minute or so of this. ‘My name’s Nathaniel Fforbes, though what that matters, I’m fucked if I know.’

‘You talk to them.’ I said to the concierge, eventually, before dropping to my knees, the better to assess Felicity. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

She didn’t even reply - just scuttled from the room, phone in hand - leaving me there, alone but for the seemingly lifeless body of the girl I’d promised to help.

‘Felicity,’ I urged, turning her face to me and searching for signs of life. I lifted her eyelid and her dilated pupil stared back at me, unseeing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Felicity. I was on my way. I tried to get here earlier, I did really. Please, help me out here.’

There was no response. As I took my hand from her head, it lolled back to one side, the eyelid dropping again slowly as it did so.

‘I was never going to leave you to it,’ I said, choking back the tears as I lay my ear against her chest, desperately hoping to hear some sort of rhythm, however faint, inside it. ‘Please, Felicity. Show me you’re still in there. If not for me, do it for your father.’

Whether it was because I was panicking, or whether it was because I was trying to give the kiss of life to a cadaver, I couldn’t tell, but I was met with silence. There was nothing there that I could hear – just a cavernous emptiness.

In a last desperate bid to resuscitate the lifeless body beneath me, I pulled myself up and knelt above her. Frantically trying to remember my CPR, I checked her airway, before putting the heel of my left hand on her breastbone. When I was sure I was positioned correctly, I brought the heel of the right down on top, pressing so hard I was scared I’d break right through her chest wall. One…two…three…four…five…. I didn’t pause until I’d hit thirty. Then I stopped and crouched down over her, pinching her nose between my fingers and bringing my mouth down, open and panting on top of hers. I blew, long and steady, through her flaccid lips, once…twice…before getting up above and starting again. Three lots of chest compressions, six lungfuls of air, and I paused for a moment, trying to get my breath back.

I bent down and put my ear back to her chest. ‘Come on Felicity. Nothing’s worth this,’ I said, my breathing coming hard and dry in my throat, my cheek pressed against the fleshy bosom she’d been so proud to show off in the car park. There was nothing. No response that gave me any hope. I knelt above her again. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…

I was still doing CPR, however hopeless, when the emergency services arrived.

    Twelve

Her

I could tell right away that Liv’s day hadn’t gone well. From the moment she walked into the kitchen, it was as if a dense, black cloud hung around her.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘How was it?’

‘It was…fine,’ I said. ‘If you like sitting like a statue for hours on end. I don’t know how real models do it.’

‘Well, you’re a real model now.’ She sat down heavily at the table and put her head in her hands. ‘Don’t sell yourself short.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ I was chopping onions, blinking hard against the stinging of my eyes, and took the chance for a break and put the kettle on. ‘How was work?’

Liv groaned.

‘Oh.’ I felt a pang of guilt. ‘That good? Sorry, Liv.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ She gave an expressive sigh and slumped her head on the table. ‘You couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. It’s just Max.’

‘I take it he was his lovable, cuddly self?’

‘I may have to kill him.’ She sat bolt upright. ‘D’you think it’s actually illegal, if they’re a total bastard?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so. You should try it and see. Take one for the team.’